Lovers In A Dangerous Time
by Northen
Summary: Joffrey insists that his Hound train Sansa in expectations of the marital bed. It doesn't work out as he had hoped.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N: **I have always envisioned Sandor and the Hound to be two different persona's embodied within one character. The Hound is the cruel, vicious character that has been descried to us throughout the series but Sandor is still the son of a Lord and consequently had all the education and manners of any gentleman. We all know he has a soft spot for Sansa, in my story, he lets it show.

* * *

Lessons were something Sansa had been accustomed to for the entirety of her life. Whether it was basic sewing or stitching, intricate needlework, sums, letters or even just learning manners, she had always enjoyed them and felt it her duty to take all her lessons to heart and learn to complete them to a point of perfection. She took great pride in this. She never thought where her lessons would come from after the death of her Septa and certainly never thought this would be one of them.

"You will be a proper wife. You will know how to please me come our wedding night. Yes, my mother says I still have to marry you," he stated, despite not being asked the question, and rolling his eyes in the process. "You have no Septa, no sisters and no mother. I think it proper that a Hound teach a bitch to fuck," Joffrey shouted loudly and with a sneer quite evident on his face.

She couldn't believe the words, despite them being confirmed by the absolute silence in the room. Cercei's face blanched at her sons' words, Tyrion dropped his goblet, only Littlefinger and Lord Varys kept their stony demeanour. Even the Hound himself looked affected. She wasn't sure what his expression meant, but considering his reputation, she felt every good reason to be afraid.

"Well? What do you say to that? We'll make sure no traitors' blood spills on my wedding bed."

Sansa breathed in deeply to steady a voice she knew would be shaky, "if it pleases Your Grace." She kept her composure; she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her fear.

"It does please me. Hound, you are to start with her tonight. If she does not please me, you will both answer for it. But don't even think of giving this wolf bitch any pups."

"Yes, Your Grace," the Hound rasped before dismissing himself.

"Lady Sansa," it was Tyrion who had piped up, for which Sansa was thankful. He had always been kind to her and she was told he had a fondness for both her bastard brother and her broken brother. Her mind must have wandered. She snapped back to attention when he called her name a second time, "Lady Sansa, I am sure you will want to prepare for your new...lessons. You are dismissed to your rooms. Ser Meryn, please escort the lady to her chambers. She is not to be harmed. We have matters to discuss with the King before he retires for the afternoon."

Sansa curtsied, as she was expected to and made sure she kept far enough ahead of the Kingsguard that he could not touch her.

As soon as she reached her chambers, she dropped the crossbeam and fell to the floor, tears pouring over her cheeks, soaking into the fabric pooled about her knees.

This was how Shae found her moments later. With very little prodding, Sansa had spilled the whole sad and sadistic story.

"He will ruin me. I won't be able to marry honourably," she cried even harder into Shaes' shoulder.

Shae hugged the young girl tightly. "The King ordered it; he will know you won't be a maiden."

"He won't marry me! He is playing with me, I know he is. He will ruin me and set me aside. I am a pawn in his game, no more than a toy! He hates me and knows I hate him," she sobbed, with anger now. "Besides, my brother might still make it. What then?"

Shae pursed her lips. "If your brother is as honourable as you say he is, you will have nothing to fear. He will make you an honourable match," she promised. "But until that happens, I don't know much about noble marriage but I do know much and more about what goes on in the marriage bed. I will help if I am able." Sansa nodded in acknowledgement. "For now, let us get you ready to meet your teacher. I will heat up a bath for you, m'Lady."

Shae lead her into the adjoining lavatory and started pouring water into the copper tub while Sansa fussed with the laces on her dress. Shae took the dress and her underclothes from her and placed them on her trunk before returning to the bath.

Sansa was standing naked next to the large tub, stooping slightly to test the temperature of the water. "The king is a stupid boy, m'lady," Shae stated, smiling at Sansa. "The Hound should consider himself a lucky man."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked, covering herself with her arms before turning to face the other girl, a red flush spreading down her shoulders.

"Look at yourself," she said, grasping Sansas arms and turning her to the mirror. "If word is true, you've your mothers' hair and the wildlings would say you've been kissed by fire." The words seemed a great compliment when spoken in Shaes' exotic accent. Sansas' blush only deepened. "Your skin is as milky white as a statue of the maiden herself," she continued, running her fingers along the length of Sansa's arms, "and your breasts, they still hold the firmness of youth. Any man would be wanting of them," she said, reaching under Sansas' arm and taking one in her hand to squeeze gently.

Sansa was as red as her hair. She smacked her handmaids hand away. "That is enough Shae, please," she pleaded. "I will call you when I need my hair to be combed."

* * *

Sandor stormed out of the small room too angry and indisposed with his own thoughts to speak with anyone. He went directly to his chambers. The bastard king had gone too far and Sandor hated to be played as a pawn. He slammed the heavy doors behind him before fighting with the buckles and other fastenings of his armour and throwing them to the floor. He paced the room in an attempt to taper his fervour. He may be the hound but he still had his honour. He couldn't give a shit for the honour of knights or Gods or damn near anything else but could still honour himself and what his father taught him.

"She's a LADY, Gods be damned!" he yelled to the stone walls, anger rising again. "I would gut that bastard before following an order to rape a lady."

He carried on with his ranting to no audience beyond the furniture in his rooms until he could control himself and come up with a strategy. He had a soft spot for the little bird and didn't like how afraid of him she was without him ever causing her harm. She would wish him dead a thousand times over if he forced himself on her. He wouldn't.

When he had his ideas sorted and settled, he ordered a servant boy to pour him a bath. The boy stood dumbstruck as though it was the most absurd request in all of the Seven Kingdoms until he threatened to box the lads ears. The very least he could do was to show up clean and properly dressed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N:** First of all, I want to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews. They are like fuel to me. I love reading them and getting feedback from people, good or bad. Secondly, I forgot to mention this in the first chapter but the inspiration for this fic is from the song 'Lovers in a Dangerous Time' by the Barenaked Ladies. It's a great song.

* * *

It had all started as a vicious game played by the bastard King. He saw Sansa as a play-thing and since she was still slotted to be his wife, he felt that she had best be taught how to please him. Joffrey was cruel though and sadism brought him great pleasure. He wanted her to be terrified when they wed. He threw her to his dog and knowing him to be a cruel man, commanded him to be her teacher. Little did he know, his big dog had a soft spot for the girl. Joffrey wanted her bleeding, torn and broken.

She was truly and thoroughly terrified that first night. When she heard the heavy pounding on her door, she felt paralyzed with fear. It wasn't until he had bellowed through the door for her to open it that she managed to move her legs. Sandor had never struck her and he had been kind to her when nobody else was but despite that, he frightened her. He entered her room wearing a dark grey tunic with black breeches. He looked different out of his armour; softer somehow, not so menacing. Sansa stood trembling; her hands clasped to hide her nerves as she focused on her feet. Sandor did not approach her or her bed, but chose to sit in her vanity chair instead.

Sandor watched the girl closely. He knew she was scared, that didn't surprise him. He was the Hound: big, vulgar, and vicious. He had carried a reputation for most his life, he needed it but he didn't want her to be terrified of him. "I've never hurt you little bird and I don't intend to start now," he said in his raspy voice; softer than she had anticipated. He usually barked at her in Joffrey's presence and she rarely saw him outside of that.

"B-but the king...Joff said..."

"I know what the King said," he retorted, sharper than he intended. "I was there too. And I will teach you. I don't have a choice in that. He will kill us both if you don't..." he hesitated trying to choose his words, "perform to his expectations." The words made Sandor damn near choke. "But I won't hurt you, child."

Sansa clenched her teeth. She couldn't bear for him to be so kind to her. Not when she knew what he was going to do to her. "I'm not a child," she said defiantly. Arya was a child. _She_ was a woman grown. Sandor knew that, he had seen her the morning of her first flowering.

"Aye, I can see that," he responded, allowing his eyes to wander away from hers, down to her pale shoulders, over her maturing breasts, across her belly. Sansa could feel a blush spreading across her whole body. "I see you have a bite of the wolf in you as well."

She eyed the big man warily. She didn't know he would be so well spoken. She always knew him to be short and crass with his words. She didn't like to feel confused, and that was certainly how she felt now. She willed herself not to chew on her lip. It was one of the few traits she shared with her younger sister, despite knowing that it wasn't proper. She decided she wouldn't let him get friendly with her, she would not trust this man. He was here to do a task, what better thing to do than to get it over with. "What should I do, Ser?" she asked tersely. She didn't want to just stand there while his eyes took in her figure. She didn't want him to be kind to her. She wanted to hate him; she couldn't do that if he was being nice.

"First, you know I am no Ser. And you know why."

"What shall I call you by?" she tried to keep up her angry facade but she could feel it faltering.

"Sandor will do. It did well enough for my mother and it pleased your Gods to let me keep it so it should work for you as well."

"Very well, Se-Sandor. What shall you teach me tonight?"

"Tonight, nothing of that sort. I won't allow you to ruin yourself to a stranger." His words shocked her and only worked to make her more wary. "Call your handmaid, have her bring her some wine. We may be here a while. Sansa obeyed and the wine was retrieved. Sandor poured for both of them. Sansa sipped hers politely. She expected him to get drunk, as usual.

True to his word, she did not ruin herself that night. She did learn plenty though and he did not get drunk. She spoke not half as much as she listened.

They had moved to a seating area near the hearth. The decanter was sitting on the table between the two chairs they occupied. Sandor was turning the stem of his goblet in his fingers as he began to speak. "My father was a good man. I forgave him a long time ago for allowing my brother to go without incident after what he did to me. What choice do I have? He is dead, and as like by the hands of my brother as not. After all, my brother was his hope, his heir. He couldn't risk such scandalous familial controversy when the Cleganes had only carried a title for two generations. He would not sully his fathers' work. But Gregor, I will never forgive." He paused in his story to take another mouthful of wine.

Sansa watched him carefully as he spoke, trying to figure him out. She couldn't conceive of any reason as to why he was telling her these things. Maybe he was more than he appeared? He was after all, a Lords son. Could it be possible that behind his brutish appearance, he was a gentleman?

"He never should have burned you as he did. It was very wrong of him."

Sandor snorted, "I forgave him this," he responded gesturing to his scars, "a long time ago. It was my sister that I will never forgive him for."

That was intriguing. Sansa didn't know he had a sister. "You've a sister? I never knew."

"Nobody knows little bird. She's been dead most my years," he said softly. Sansa couldn't respond to this, hearing the sadness in his voice, so she only stared down into her cup. "You see, Gregor was never calm. The servants feared him before he had ever mounted a horse. The kennel master wouldn't let him near a bitch because as often as not, he killed her pups and ripped their guts across the yard. It was things like that which he found amusing. You know what he did to me when he saw me playing with his toy in our room, and I should consider myself lucky. Well one morning, when he went to the stables, he saw Aleysa daring to braid his horses' mane. It was too early in the morning for anyone to have seen what happened, but she was found in the bottom of the well later that morning. Battered and broken. They found him in the barn hacking at his dead horse. Father asked him what happened; he said he 'wouldn't have a beast that lets a little bitch of a girl braid its hair. War horses had to be mean', he said. He said he yelled at Aleysa for going after his horse and she ran out of the stable and must have tripped down the well. Gregor was never a good liar.

"Was she not afraid of him? Could she not have fallen in the well after fleeing him?" Sansa could almost feel the pain of losing a sibling. Bran almost died and Arya could be dead, even now. She didn't know.

"Ever the naive little bird," he quipped. "Aye, she was afraid of him. Most people were but her falling down the well could be no accident. That wells lip was a good four feet off the ground, ordered that high by my father after the stewards' son fell down. He didn't want his children to see the same fate. My sister, she was five when she died and would have only stood three and a half feet tall. She couldn't have climbed into that well if she wanted to." Sansa only nodded in acknowledgement. "I saw her when they pulled her out. In truth, killing her was a mercy over leaving her with the scars he would have caused."

"So what happened then? With so many people who knew what happened, they couldn't just say it was an accident, he had to have been punished." Sansa couldn't imagine what her good father would do if one of his children killed another. She couldn't imagine Robb or even Jon getting that angry with her.

"No, father certainly couldn't ignore that. He was so proud that his son had been knighted and had taken the time to come home to share his honour with his family. Now that same son was to be punished by hanging. Even the Lannisters could not overlook the blatant murder of a child. Still, he could not bear to see his son hanged. That day, they rode into the woods, father was going to beg him to take the black and join the Night's Watch instead of donning the hangman's noose."

"Then how did he escape?" Sansa was leaning into the arm of the chair, the story had her riveted. Even Old Nans tales hadn't frightened her half a much.

"Pretty bird, forgetting her courtesies and interrupting," he chided, laughing as she blushed and apologized. "He came back from the woods with my father's body strapped to the back of his horse. His body was crushed. Gregor claimed that the horses footing had faltered and the beast stumbled, taking my father down with it and crushed him to death." Sansa couldn't help but stare wide-eyed. "Gregor was, by birthright Lord of Clegane Keep. As soon as I heard what happened, I rode hard and fast for Casterly Rock. I knew I wasn't safe at home anymore. I was taken in to service by the Lannisters when I was eleven, went into battle and blooded when I was twelve, became the guard of the blond cunt when I was a mere six and ten and sworn shield of that poxy bastard the day he graced us with his presence. And here I stay," he finished, downing the rest of his wine and using the glass to gesture at his surroundings. Sansa was still stunned to silence. "There now little bird, all is bared," he said standing. "I don't believe I am a stranger to you anymore."

Sansa shook her head, "no, you are a stranger to me no more. Thank you, Sandor, for sharing all that with me." She smiled at him, her features softening, letting the angry mask slip away.

"No need to thank me Sansa, just don't go all doe-eyed at me in court tomorrow. Joffrey is a stupid boy but he isn't blind. You must act as though you are afraid of me, even more than were. Understood?"

They followed this ritual for a few nights. The coming nights she talked of her childhood in Winterfell, her brothers and sister, summer snows and the faces of the old wierwood trees. He asked a lot of questions about her fathers' old Gods and decided he liked them better than the Seven. He told her happier stories of his childhood, his sister and his mother. Sansa caught on quickly that his first lessons were lessons of trust. He knew she would never be able to trust Joffrey but he promised he would do all he was able to in order to protect her.

"We will have to start your lessons in earnest tomorrow," he said, sneering at the word 'lessons'. "The king has been asking questions."

Sansa nodded, she knew this would be coming sooner or later. Sandor turned to leave. "Sandor wait," she called grabbing his arm. He froze in his tracks; she had never moved to touch him before. He turned back to face her.

"What is it, little bird?" he asked.

She quickly pulled her hands away from his arm. "I-I...nothing, I've forgotten. Good night Sandor." She had wanted to thank him but felt he would only sneer at her. He never took thanks well. Before she could try again. the heavy door was closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for the reviews! They are a great inspiration. Once commenter did mention that the song was originally sung by Bruce Cockburn. This is true. However, it is the cover by the Barenaked Ladies that I have always listened to and loved. But I appreciate the clarification.

* * *

"What are you playing at, Clegane?"

Sandor looked up from what he was doing to respond, "I don't know what you're talking about, Imp," he said, and returned to the task at hand.

"You know very well what I am talking about. Sansa Stark. Her lying has improved but she is still terrible at it; even if my dear nephew hasn't noticed."

"Get to the point," he growled. He had hope that this encounter wouldn't occur quite so soon, but Tyrion Lannister was a smart man.

"Lady Sansa is still a maiden."

"How would you know? And what do you care?" he sneered.

"As a man who loves women as much as I do, I always know a maiden when I see one," Tyrion started, glancing at the book spines that lined a small shelf. "I've paid many a time to take it away. As for the care, I came to commend you. Her chastity means nothing to me and I thought it would mean even less to you. Despite that, the girl remains intact," he summarized.

"Aye, she does. I've never raped a woman in my life, and I don't intend to start now. And she is no whore; I will not treat her as one. I know her handmaid is yours though," he finished with a pointed look at the half-man.

"Wonderful observation. You may just be more intelligent than I had first ascertained. However, that deviates from the topic at hand." Sandor turned his focus away from the charts on his desk and turned to focus more on Tyrion.

"Get to it then!" he shouted. He liked his solitude and would prefer it left alone.

"Joffrey has the attention span of a dead flea. However, if his favourite toy is dangled in front of his face for all the court to see, he can't very well be distracted from it, now can he?"

"Go on..."

"When you next see Sansa, I suggest you recommend to her that she ask for an excusal from court for a short while. She is in too much physical agony from the torture you're putting her though to be able to withstand the rigors of court."

"And why would I do that?"

"Why you would do that is nobody's business but your own. I was merely trying to buy you some time." And with that, he turned on his heels and left.

* * *

"As I said, we need to move on with our lessons." At his words, Sansa immediately blushed more profusely than she ever had in her life. "You must please him, Sansa. Blushing red won't help you." She nodded in agreement.

"What should I do?" she asked.

"Come here. You will need to learn to help dressing your husband, should he ask it of you. Joffrey lusts on submission. He will want to make you feel as though you're his slave and no better than an unpaid servant, so expect him to ask you often."

Sansa breathed in deeply, she could smell his scent from across the room: musk, hay and sweat. He smelled masculine and enticing. Joffrey smelled of soaps and fresh linen. She approached Sandor, she stood just below his shoulder. She moved her hands deftly, as though she were doing her needlework, reached for the clasp to his cloak; it was a silver hounds head, so similar but so different than her direwolf pin she kept hidden in the bottom of her trunk. As soon as the clasp released the heavy fabric, she reached around him before it fell to the floor. It would not please Joffrey to make a mess.

"The little bird learns well." His mouth twitched as though he were holding back a smile. Sansa nodded silently as she carefully folded the black velvet and laid it across the back of the chair. She turned back to him and reached for the buttons of his doublet. When the buttons were all undone, he shrugged out of the garment and handed it to her. She put it with the cloak. When she turned around a second time, he had already pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it on the trunk at the foot of her bed.

Sansas' breath caught in her throat at the sight of Sandor standing bare-chested in front of her. He was muscular, she much she already new but she never knew muscles could be so visibly defined. It was rarely hot enough in the North for the men to remove their shirts and when it was, Sansa was confined to the sewing room. It wasn't appropriate for a highborn maid to see nudity of that degree beyond her family. Sandor had black hair lightly strewn across his chest, heavier across his pectorals before thinning down to a single trail that lead to his belt. He had scars as well: the most prominent being a heavy, thick, white scar started at his left under arm and swooped down and across, ending at his naval. He was littered with smaller ones too, some barely visible.

"Like what you see, girl?" Sandor was openly smirking. He had suspected that she had never seen a man outside her family undressed before, this confirmed it. She looked to be fascinated by what she saw and he thought he could detect almost a hint of arousal in her expression. She probably wasn't aware that she was chewing on her lip again either.

She didn't deign him with a response. Instead her curiosity got the best of her. She approached him and with a feather-light touch, traced the length of the thick, white scar. "What's this from?" she asked innocently. Her touch immediately gave him goose bumps.

He pulled her wrist away from the scar. He never would have thought that such a light and innocent touch would inflict such a strong sexual response from him, and yet, he could feel the tell-tale heat settling in his groin. "Keep that up and your lessons would be fast-tracked, little bird."

Sansa had no idea what he meant. She didn't think she was capable of anything sexual. She hadn't been taught anything. She could feel his skin ripple under her touch and she saw his nipples harden before he pulled her hand away. "I'm sorry, my- Sandor. I didn't mean to speak out of turn. Ladies should not ask questions. They are to obey." She knew better and would not make the same mistake again, regardless of whether she was distracted or not.

"Sansa, you may ask me any question you wish. I will never say no to you. Joffrey will not be so kind. But that is not what I meant."

"Forgive me, but what do you mean?" The perfect lady, her courtesies perfectly in line.

Sandor was stunned for words. Was she really this naive? Did she not know what she looked like? What men saw? Sandor clenched his jaw and moved to stand behind her so she had a clear view of herself in the mirror. He held her firmly by the hips so she could not move away, "What do you see when you look in the mirror?" He asked.

This reminded Sansa all too much of what Shae did with her in her lavatory only a week's past. She wondered if Sandor would grab her as Shae did. Beyond that, Sansa was confused, it was a mirror, she saw herself and she told him as much. "I understand you see yourself," he responded exasperated. "Describe yourself."

"Vanity does not become a lady. Besides, the Seven would not condone such conceit," Sansa chirped automatically.

"Bugger your Gods," he snarled. Hearing Sansa's voice catch in her throat, he softened his expression and his voice before continuing, "Listen to me girl, when a man looks at you, do you know what he see?" She shook her head. "He sees yours tits and your cunt." Sansa cringed at his crude language. "Beyond that, you are a young, highborn maiden. Many a man would give good coin to take your head. And even above all that," he paused momentarily, he was honest, but he was rarely so open, "you're the most beautiful woman in Westeros."

Sansas eyes snapped to his in the mirror. "You truly think that?" _A hound will die for you__, but never lie to you._

Sandor was not one to beat around the bush. "Yes, Sansa, I believe that." He spoke softly, his grey eyes not leaving hers. "And when women like you touch men like me as you did, well, we can react. Honest men will control themselves but other men, yes even your beloved knights, they won't."

"Men like you?"

"Yes, men like me. I'm not a good man, certainly not honourable like those knights in your stories. Being called 'dog' is generous. I am crude, callous and when need be, vicious. I wasn't chosen to be that bastard's sworn shield for my courtly abilities."

"But despite all that, you've protected me," she replied. Turning around, his hands did not leave her hips. "Even now, these lessons, you're doing it to protect me. All those things are what you are capable of. They aren't who you are. You're a good man, Sandor Clegane. You are as close to a true knight as I have ever seen," she declared. "I've never thanked you for all you've done for me."

Before he could come up with a response for her, she reached up, resting her hands on his broad shoulders and kissed him on his unmarred cheek.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter almost didn't come into fruition tonight. I am sick as a dog! (pardon the pun). Fever, chills, nausea, the whole schebang. Not fun at all. I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N:** Thank you everyone. The response to the last chapter was unprecedented. I am feeling better and was able to get this chapter done. I do beg your patience though, my shifts at work has been changed up and we've been VERY busy lately so the next chapters may be slow coming so please, bear with me. I hope you like this chapter, as always, please review. I love reading them.

* * *

Sansa paced her room impatiently. She was nervous for his arrival tonight. Their lesson last night was significantly shorter than any lesson previously. After she kissed him, he nervously made some excuses and he fumbled into his undershirt and doublet before rushing out, slamming the door behind him. She thought she had somehow offended him but no matter how many times she had gone over the night in her head, she couldn't come up with any reason that would have upset him. She confided in Shae as well, who also could find no fault in the evening.

Her thoughts were interrupted by his tell-tale knock on the door.

"Good evening Sandor," she welcomed him with a smile, trying to behave as though nothing had been amiss the previous evening.

Sandor eyed her warily, "Good evening Sansa." He removed his cloak without her assistance. "You are well?" Robb Stark had gained a small victory and Sansa had reaped his reward.

"Yes, it's bruises mostly and Grand Maester Pycelle says the cut on my shoulder isn't deep and may not even scar if I am careful with it," she responded. "It needed four stitches," she added.

Sandor grunted it response. He had to clench his teeth to prevent showing his anger. He was away from the hall when Joffrey had ordered the beating, as was the Imp. The poor girl was left with no one to protect her.

"Listen Sansa, I meant to speak with you of something last night." Sansa looked back at him but didn't say anything. "I think you should ask to be excused from court for a while."

"Joffrey would never allow that," she responded.

"He may not but the Queen will and through her, he will."

"What shall my reason be?"

"Tell your handmaid to inform the Maester that you are in too much pain and agony from your lessons to make an acceptable appearance in court. He will take those words to Cercei and you will be excused.

All Sansa could manage was a nod. A break from court and all its pressures was exactly what she needed. She hated Joffrey. She hated Cersei. She hated all the Lannisters. Silence stretched between them and Sansa could feel the weight of his eyes on her. "What is my lesson tonight?" she asked to break the heavy silence.

"Tonight, you will learn to give a man a proper shave," he stated.

"Forgive me Sandor, but I don't think he would let me near him with a blade in hand."

Sandor also knew this. He more wanted to teach her this because he liked having her near him. He had suppressed feelings for the girl for some time but after their interactions the previous evening; he had a harder time doing that. He also wanted to prove that he trusted her as much as he hoped she trusted him.

"Regardless of whether he asks it of you, it is a task asked of many wives for their husbands. It is a good bit of knowledge to have."

"Very well, I will learn."

"I've spoken with your handmaid and she will be bringing in a basin, cloth and a blade."

Sansa nodded and as if on cue, Shae entered with the items mentioned by Sandor and went about heating the water in the hearth.

Once Shae left them, Sandor removed his doublet and his undershirt before sitting in the chair by the fire. Just as yesterday, she did not avert her gaze. However this time, she didn't allow herself to blush.

"First, pour the water into the basin and soak one of the towels and wring it out. Then bring it here. With my burns, only half of my face needs to be done. Hair doesn't grow enough on that side to be a bother." As he was speaking, Sansa followed his instructions. "Now, come over here and lay the towel over my beard."

Because of how the chair was situated, Sansa couldn't get close enough to reach his face without standing with his legs straddling either side of her. The wings on the chair prevented her from standing to either side and the height of the chair back proved that difficult as well. She flushed red at their proximity but carried on, leaning over him to place the towel on his face.

"Sandor!" she cried, "one of your burns shows infection! You must see the maester!" She had never been close enough to him in adequate light to get a good look at his burns. When she saw him in sunlight, his head was a foot above her own but now while he was sitting and his face aglow in the firelight, she saw it clearly, red and ravaged along his jaw, the area in question angry and puss-filled with a piece of bone showing through, white as ivory. Other parts were dark and leathery ridges that ran from the cleft of his chin halfway up his scalp.

Sandor snorted his derision but did not pull the hot towel off his jaw. "A maester hasn't seen to me outside of battle since it happened, little bird. I don't trust those little shits. Leave it be, I am sure it's no worse than usual," he finished. He had long since grown accustomed to the soreness and the persistent itch that was commonly the cause of his facial twitch.

"Please Sandor, the pus is green. I am sure that it is infected. At least let me wash it for you. I have some salve for my hurts." Sansa was near panicked. The thought of some old wound causing him harm now caused her unexpected anxiety. Why was she so worried about the man? What if something happened to him? What would happen to _her_ if he was gone?

"Very well girl, but after the shave," he growled. He didn't like to see her so stressed, but he was sure she had no reason to be so. His wrecked face had spent most of his life in some state of infection. He didn't tend to it and he often picked at the red, weeping skin as it dried out. Exactly what his childhood maester told him not to do.

Sansa nodded in agreement and reached for the razor. She followed his every direction, focussed carefully on the task. She refused to allow herself to cut him. She was unconsciously leaning in very close to him. Sandor closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. He opened them lazily to watch her work. Her eyebrows were closely knitted together; her eyes were taking in every angle that the hairs stood at, especially around his chin where the scars began. The warmth of her legs pressing against his thighs as she leaned into him felt better than it should and he had to fight not to return the pressure.

Sansa took in his looks as she worked on the several days' growth on his face. The large man would have been very handsome without the scars. He would have been a perfect knight, like one out of the stories she loved so well. That was ruined the night his brother held his face in the brazier for playing with a toy that although it did not interest the bigger boy, was not for the younger boy to play with. That night he learned there were no true knights, he decided then and there, he would never be one. There was a time a mere week ago, when Sansa was scared of him. His fierce scars, visible bone, and the angry red, torn flesh were a part of him but she wasn't afraid any more. The wolf never succumbs to a hound. She almost felt pity for him. She shook that thought out of her head as fast as it had entered while she rinsed the blade and returned it to its sheath. He did not want nor need pity, especially from a girl. She retrieved the towel and wiped off his face, clearing it of any stray loose hairs. She ran her hand over the clean smooth skin, her palm soft against his cheek. She felt him lean into her touch.

She handed him a looking glass so he could inspect her work while she went to wash her hands and change the water in the basin. It would not do to get bits of the shaved stubble into his open wound if she had any intention of helping it heal.

Sansa went for a small washing cloth and the salve the maester gave her for her stitches. She was told it would help with the itching. Itching meant it was healing. She dipped the cloth into the water and returned to her previous stance.

For the most part, Sandor couldn't feel what she was doing, most of the feeling on his scars numbed when the nerves had been charred, but when she reached the part where the infection had settled, where his jaw bone showed through, he grabbed her wrists roughly and howled in pain.

"DAMN GIRL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" he bellowed. Now he remembered why he didn't let the maester near it.

"I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU, THAT'S WHAT! YOU WON'T TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SO SOMEONE HAS TO!" she yelled back with as much fervour, wrenching her hands away from him. "AND DON'T YELL AT ME!"

Sandor wanted to laugh at her but the expression on her face led him to believe that would not go over well. He opted to lean back in the chair again. He hadn't had someone take care of him in years. He didn't know how to react to her. "Well, just be more careful then. That bloody well stings," he answered in a much calmer tone.

He expected her to return to her task but was surprised when she walked away. "Where are you going?" he asked, suddenly concerned that she was truly angry with him.

She fumbled around in a small trunk full of needlework supplies before retrieving a fine pair of forceps and a small set of scissors. She turned back to him with a scowl on her face. "You have some whiskers on that side and they are growing into your burn. I am going to pull them out so they don't bother it.

She returned to him but instead of standing as she did before, she sat on the arm of the chair and rested her slippered feet on his thigh. She knew it was not appropriate, but she didn't care. She knew he wouldn't mind. Sandors arm went instinctively around her waist. Regaining the mask of focus, she returned to working on his face. She held his jaw carefully in one hand as she worked on pulling the affecting hairs out and cutting dead skin. Sandor flinched once or twice as the whiskers were torn from his flesh and at other times, he had to resist shuddering at the feeling of her warm breath on his neck.

Sansa opened the small jar of salve and applied it liberally on the cleaned wound. "There, you've been cleaned and tended to. Surely that feels better?" She asked. Sandor had to admit, it felt a lot better than it had. She did better than any maester ever had. She had her hands on either side of his face turning it towards her and away from her, inspecting her handiwork. Sandor grunted his agreement. Her proximity was making him feel more uncomfortable.

He needed to regain control. He reached for her hands and took them in his own. "Thank you Sansa," he said sincerely, kissing the back of her hand. He watched as her breath caught in her throat, and her face betrayed a pink hue. He cocked his head to one side, "you've never been kissed, have you, Sansa?" he asked.

"Joff...he kissed me once. That was before..."she tapered off for a moment before recalling her resolve, "before he killed my father, before I hated him." She finished vehemently.

"Well that's no good memory of a kiss at all," he said, reaching under her legs and pulling her off the chair arm and into his lap. She squeaked in surprise, laying her hands against his chest for support. His arm had quickly returned to support her back and prevent her from falling until she regained her balance. "Is it?" he added, a small smile on his lips. Sansa shook her head.

Sandor moved his arm from around her back and slid his hand up her neck, lacing his fingers in her hair. He had no clue where his brazen boldness was coming from but he wasn't about to question it. All he could think and focus on was the blue eyes staring into his and her plump pink lips. Time slowed down and it seemed to take ages for him to close the gap between the two. He promised he wouldn't force her and he would keep his word, giving her every opportunity to escape him. She did no such thing.

Sansa couldn't believe what was happening. She had felt that unfamiliar warmth settling in her belly since the moment she stood between his legs. She thought it was just nerves but she had been nervous before and it hadn't happened then and it only happened when she was with Sandor. Could she be attracted to him? She could feel herself drowning in his grey, northern eyes. She felt his breath against her lips as he moved closer. She should move away shouldn't she? She didn't want to. When his lips finally met her, he took her breath away. She wouldn't have expected him able to be so gentle. She was disappointed momentarily when he pulled away; far enough to look into her eyes, searching for something. He must have found what he was looking for. He leaned in a second time and kissed her harder and more passionately. Sansa moved her hands up his chest and shoulders and wound one hand in his hair. She didn't want him to pull away again.

Sandor felt Sansa lean against him as he slid his hand up his thigh, the soft velvet sliding smoothly under his rough palms. He felt her lips part under his own and took the opportunity to take her bottom lip gently in his teeth. She surprised him by releasing the tiniest of whimpers, eliciting a groan from him in return. He forced himself to pull away. It would not do to get too heated. She wasn't ready yet.

Sansa was confused, she didn't know why he stopped, "Did I do something wrong?" she asked in a very child-like voice.

"No, little bird, you did very well but I think we've finished our lesson for today. Perhaps we will carry on tomorrow," he answered reassuringly, kissing the top of her head before helping her rise, following suit and leaving her for the evening.


	5. Chapter 5

******Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N:** So insomnia has brought about a new chapter. 12+ hour workdays on no sleep are not a nice thing to deal with but also neglecting such an amazing response to my story is also not a nice thing, so you win. Also, you would not believe how hard it is to write some scenes with a dog snoring like a mad fiend next to you (more for the next chapter, no this one). Really, it doesn't not exactly provide a romantic atmosphere. And without further ado, the next chapter. Enjoy.

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Sandor had been keeping a watchful eye out for Sansa. He wasn't told whether she had been excused from court or not. What he did know was that tidings of her brothers' victories would not bode well for her, should she appear. Joffreys temper was a foul thing of late and Sandor didn't trust himself to stand aside while the King had her beaten. He was sure that if Joff could get away with it, he would have the girl flayed in a similar fashion to Bolton traditions.

"So Hound, what is this I hear that you have ravished the girl into such a state she is not fit for court?"

Sandor dropped his gaze to meet Tyrions. He had been watching people in court for years and had had enough people staring at him that he could read expressions like they were books. Tyrion knew that Sandor had done as he was bid and Sansa had followed suit.

"Aye, she's a wild one at times but the wolf will be tamed," forcing a malicious smirk onto his face as he tried to play his part. He did well enough; he could see Joffrey smiling sadistically at his words.

"Just be sure to leave her face, Hound. I like her to look pretty," said Joffrey, rather indifferently. Clenching his teeth, Sandor could only bear to nod curtly in response.

While court was in session, Sansa went to the stables. She knew that while everyone was in the throne room, no one would see here that would suspect or know she was supposedly in too much agony to stir out of doors.

"What do you want here, girl?" the coarse master of horse was always crude but he wasn't a cruel man.

Sansa knew to play her part, "I had hoped to see the beasts that would take our brave knights to battle. They must be fearsome to behold."

The fat man eyed her up but ultimately believed her. "They are tame enough, most of 'em. Just stay away from that big black one at the end. Sent straight out of the Seven Hells, he was."

Sansa's eyes went big with false fear. She had a direwolf as a pet. A horse would never frighten her so. "Who does he belong to?" she asked. In truth, she had never seen a horse so large, other than the one that had bore The Mountain That Rides. Peering down to the end stall, she could see even now that the horse was restless.

"He belongs to the Hound, he does. Goes by the name of Stranger, Gods be good," he chuckled as he moved aside to let Sansa enter the stables.

The stables here were bigger than those at Winterfell, but that made sense. Although Winterfell was technically bigger than the Red Keep, it didn't have nearly the same household nor were so many horses needed. Sansa took a handful of oats from the sack near the door and started down the line. The horse master had been right; most of the horses were gentle. She gave oats to the ones that would nuzzle at her shoulder and give them a pat before continuing towards the dark destrier, kicking in his stall.

She stood in front of his stall and waited for him to finish making his fuss. He looked to her as no more than an unbroken horse and she knew she could wait them out. She watched Strangers head bob and stretch towards the smell of the oats, before pulling back again. His eyes were wide with anxiety and his shiny coat rippled along his side. He hated being in that stall and Sansa felt pity for him. It took a while but finally he calmed down enough that she was willing to risk reaching out the hand of oats for him to take. He gave the back wall one solid kick, the THUMP echoing through the other stalls, before stretching his neck towards the food. He finished soon enough but still continued to snuffle at her hand, hoping for more to appear.

"You still have your hand, he must like you."

Sansa jumped back at the deep voice, afraid she had been caught. Then she saw it was Sandor and immediately calmed down. "Everyone talks of him and how terrifying he is. I wanted to see for myself. I didn't think you would mind it if I visited him." Sandor shook his head in assent as he approached her. "Why is he so vicious?" Sandor had stopped just behind Sansa, causing her to have to look up and behind her to see him.

Sandor shrugged, "takes after me I suppose. I don't like most people and would kick most of them if I had half the thought to give a shit."

"You like me though..." Sansa trailed off at the end of her sentence, leaving it half a question and half a statement.

"Aye, and so does my horse it seems," he answered reaching out to Stranger and giving his long nose an affectionate rub.

Sansa could feel his hard plate against her back as he leaned forward. She liked how he always felt so strong, so reassuring. Resist it as she tried, she couldn't help but realize she had come to care for the big man.

"You should be getting back to your cage, little bird. The lions will be leaving their dens soon enough. It wouldn't do for them to see you out.

Sansa nodded, knowing she had stayed too long already. "Where are you going? Will you still come see me tonight?"

"So eager for lessons are we?" he asked, smirking. "Aye, I will stop by. The Imp has me doing patrols and training green boys for when Stannis makes his way here."

"Will that be soon?" Sansa still had hoped that her brother would come rescue her and kill Joffrey. But what that meant for Sandor, she didn't know.

Sandor shrugged. "I don't know. It's just as likely as not. But you best be going. And don't get yourself caught. Take the side doors, near the kitchens." Sansa nodded and headed out the door.

Sansa wasn't sure when Sandor would be coming that evening because of the patrols and all, so she tried to pass the time with her needlework. When her attention couldn't stay on that for any longer, she shifted her focus to a book of her favourite stories. She couldn't focus on that so she went to the Godswood. There was never anyone there but that was part of why she enjoyed it so much. The great oak that was the heart tree didn't hold the same awe or affection for her as the mysterious weirwood trees of Winterfell; with their blood red eyes carved by the Children of the Forest, but it was still beautiful.

She was sitting in front of the great tree twirling a leaf, freshly orange with the coming autumn, when she was startled by the sound of a clearing throat behind her.

"Have your fathers' Gods answered you?" Sandor asked, half in shadow.

"Just as loudly as the Seven have," Sansa responded, with a sigh. "How did you know I would be here?"

"Your maid told me. She said you have been coming here often of late."

Sansa froze momentarily. She didn't think anyone had noticed that she had chosen to go to the Godswood more often than the sept. Leave it to Shae to notice everything. No one knew about Ser Dontos though. "The Seven weren't answering me so I thought the old Gods might," she answered, hoping it would ring true. She had rarely prayed fervently to the Old Gods, she preferred the beauty of the sept and the intricately carved faces of the Seven.

"You're lying to me, Sansa. Why do you come to the Godswood? Be honest with me now; I've always told you the truth."

_A hound will die for you but never lie to you._

His words came back to her time and again. He was right; he had never lied to her. It would not be fair if she didn't give him the same trust. She fidgeted as she battled with herself. He wouldn't tell on her would he? Finally she took a deep breath to steady her voice before responding, "Ser Dontos has been meeting me here." Sandor nodded, arching an eyebrow, prompting for her to explain, "He said he can take me away from here, back to Winterfell or to my brothers' army at the very least." She looked up at him apprehensively.

"Sansa..." he started.

"I don't want to be hurt anymore, Sandor. I can't take it. I don't understand how Joff thinks it is punishing Robb to have me be beaten or stripped by his guards and the only ones that will stop him is you or Tyrion Lannister!.One day he will have me killed just to be free of me. I have to get away! I want to go home and he is my only hope!" she finished, fighting the tears.

"I understand, little bird but that old knight isn't going to be able to do that. He isn't to be trusted." He hated to see her face fall as it did. "I've known that man for nigh over ten years and he is truly a drunkard and a fool. He isn't nearly clever enough to plan such a scheme, not on his own. He is likely working through someone else."

"I have to get away! I want to go home!" she finished earnestly, fighting the tears.

Sandor sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "I know you do."

"What can I do? If Dontos can't take me, I'll never get out," she asked, tears starting to spill down her cheeks.

Sandor let her cry into his shoulder while he thought it all out. He would take her away from him in a heartbeat if he could, but how could he do that?

"I'll do it," he said. "I will take you away. But it can't be right away," he added. Sansa pulled away from him, wide-eyed.

"You would do that? Truly?" she replied, a smile breaking through the tears. "When? How?" she asked excitedly, wiping the tears on her sleeve.

"It wouldn't be for a while. It would be after Stannis gets here."

Sansa's face fell again. "But what if Stannis wins? He is still an enemy of Robbs. I would be in the same situation, only Stannis would have little reason to keep me."

Sandor shook his head, "with all the confusion of post-battle, nobody will know who is where and what has happened to people. There is too much going on, too much death, too many people trying to flee. That would be our best chance."

"Can it not be sooner? Before the danger? What if something happens to you during the battle?"

Sandor smirked at her concern for him. "If we leave sooner, the King and the Queen would have a good number of their guard after you before the break of dawn. We would likely be caught. And you don't need to worry about me. I have survived every battle I have been in so far, there will be nothing different in this one that could harm me," he finished.

Sansa nodded, she could see the logic in that. "Where would we go?"

"We would have to plan that as we went. It would depend on what news we would hear to determine the best path."

Sansa nodded again in agreement. They spend the next hour discussing what they could take, where they could go and which direction would be best before Sandor left her with the trees.

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**A/N: **I promise, there is more affection in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. As always, please review:)**  
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	6. Chapter 6

******Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N:** I have had enough spare time that I was able to get you a new chapter in only a couple day. I even have a healthy dent made in the next chapter. I hope you enjoy this one and as usual, please review. They give me added inspiration to write and I appreciate all of them.

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Sandor had been kept busy of late but he still managed to spend time with Sansa regularly. Their lessons hadn't progressed very far. He wasn't going to push her too fast. There had been more kisses, perhaps with more fervour with each visit, but nothing more. Despite that, he knew that the King wasn't going forget about Sansa forever and that they would have to move on sooner or later before Joffrey insisted that Sansa be inspected by a Maester to make sure her maidenhead was no longer intact.

As for Sansa, she had been eager and excited for their visits. She enjoyed the warmth she felt spread across her body when he kissed her and the butterflies in her stomach in anticipation of seeing him. She had gradually become curious as to how she could make him happy but it was too shy to ask him or even Shae about what she could do or what was expected of her in that capacity.

Also during their time together, they spoke of what needed to be done before they fled the city. They spoke of what Sansa would need and what little extras she would be allowed. She knew there were many things she would have to leave behind, but nothing that was not replaceable down the road. She was sad that Shae would be left behind and hoped that she wouldn't be punished for 'allowing' her mistress to slip away. Hopefully with the confusion after the battle, Shae could get to safety as well. As it stood, Shae had no knowledge of their plans. It wasn't that Sansa didn't trust her, but she wanted to keep her safe. The less she knew, the better it would be.

Sansa was sorting through some of her things, trying to subtly sort them in a way that still made them look natural but also made what was going with her stacked ready to pack easily if and when need be. She was doing them to pass the time until Sandors planned visit. As if on cue, she left her sorting behind and went to answer the familiar knock on her door.

"Hello Sandor. I trust the patrols were quiet?" she asked with a smile. He was dressed as he always was: a clean grey doublet and breeches. Even freshly bathed, he smelled masculine.

"Good evening Sansa. Aye, they were. The city is safe as it can be with boys on the walls."

She could tell from his tone that he was not impressed. She knew that all the seasoned men were on the walls of the keep and not those of the city. Cersei cared for her son and her skin, not the realm. While Myrcella was safe in Dorne and Tommen with Ser Jaclyn, she only had herself and Joffrey to think about. She couldn't care less what happened to Tyrion.

Sandor took in the room around him. He knew their 'lessons' were going to be awkward and wanted to find some way to make them more fluid. Sansa wasn't a whore and a woman had never been with him willingly before. He knew how to get what he paid for, which wasn't always what he wanted. All the money in the Seven Kingdoms couldn't buy affection. He felt strong affection for Sansa and thought at times, or had convinced himself, that she felt affection towards him as well. She wasn't anxious or afraid of him anymore. She had even yelled at him. He had never in his life been yelled at by a woman. Even Cersei didn't dare. She was afraid of him as well.

His eyes settle on the book she was reading earlier in the day. "Reading fairy tales again, are we?" he asked in a teasing manner. "Still believe in true knights, I see."

"I've not seen a true knight in the south, but they do exist," she started earnestly. Seeing the skeptical expression on his face, she pressed forward, "Ser Rodrick, the Castellan at Winterfell, he is a true knight. He may no longer be young or handsome or even as strong as he once was but he gives me hope that they may still exist."

She always looked beautiful to him, but in moments when she spoke so passionately of home or things she believed, she damn near took away his ability to breathe. Her hope gave him hope that the future could be more than a bleak pit. She had everything taken from her: her father and wolf were dead, her sister missing, mother and brother at war, one brother beyond the wall and no news of the two youngest; yet despite it all, she prevailed.

"Well, let's hear these stories then," he said bluntly and sat down in the now-familiar chair, patting his leg, suggesting she come sit. "Maybe you will make a believer out of me yet."

Sansa smiled and sat neatly on his lap, just as she had almost daily now. He handed the book to her and she began to read.

Sandor watched the emotions travel across her face as she moved through her stories. As she read, he began to slide his fingers up and down across the silky material of her dress along her back. Gradually, her posture slipped and she was leaning into his chest. Sandor pushed her auburn hair behind her shoulder and leaned his face into her neck. He smiled as he heard her breath hitch in her throat for a moment before she continued with her reading. He ran his nose lightly along the smooth skin of her collarbone and neck, taking in the smell of her before littering her shoulder with small kisses. All the while, he continued to run his hand up and down her back; slowly loosening the laces that held her dress.

Sansa tried to focus on her story but it wasn't easy. She still didn't know what she should be doing. All she knew at that moment was the feeling if his lips hot on her skin and the hand caressing her back.

She became vaguely aware of the laces of her dress becoming undone when she could feel the roughness of his calloused hand against the smooth skin of her back. The feeling gave her goosebumps and she hoped he wouldn't stop. She leaned into him more and without intending to, she whispered his name "Oh, Sandor..."

Sandor could feel her breathing rate increase and could not believe that she could be reacting to him in such a way. When he heard his name slip between her lips, it took all his willpower not to tear her dress off right then and there. Without warning, he could feel her hands on his chest, then his neck and then they were on his face. At first he thought she was trying to pull his face away from hers, that she didn't want him kissing her anymore but then her lips were on his face. She kissed his cheeks, his scars, his jaw and finally his lips.

He suppressed a groan as best he could. His manhood had long since gone hard and was throbbing against his breeches. This was new; she had never reacted to him like this before. He knew she must be able to feel him under her but he didn't care. She had to know by now that he wanted her. He had loosened the laces of her dress enough that he was able to slip the shoulders down her arms. He continued to kiss her and let her kiss him as he worked the bodice down, exposing her young, firm breasts.

Sansa freed, her arms; she was very aware of how exposed she was and all she could think about that she hoped she would please him. He had had many women, this she new and she was barely a woman. She thought her heart had stopped for a moment when he broke their kiss and pulled her away from him. Immediately, she thought the worst and tried to cover herself again, feeling ashamed.

"No Sansa, don't do that, please," he said, his voice so calm and so gentle. Sansa immediately stopped tugging at the fabric and lifted her eyes to meet his. His eyes were dark with lust, even Sansa, as naive as she was could see that clear as day. "I want to see you," he finished. She didn't know that such simple words could put her at such ease, especially when they were said with so much honesty.

She nodded slowly and regained her posture. She sat straight up and pushed her shoulders back, keeping her hands in her lap.

The firelight danced in her hair, making the auburn seem as though it was aflame as well. Her eyes held a stubbornness he had seen frequently of late, she refused to hide herself. He took in all her features, pushing her hair back again so he could see the pale smoothness of her throat and shoulders. Sandor ran his fingers lightly along the contours of her collarbone and down her arm, allowing himself a small smile as he watched the goose bumps follow the trail of his fingers and frowning at the pale pink line of fresh scarring near her shoulder from the beatings she took. Returning to the hollow at her collar bone where he started, he then made a trail down over her rib cage and under her breast before bringing his fingers up and over her nipple. He was gratified as he watched the already erect nipple grow harder under his finger and was quite surprised when Sansa leaned into his touch. He glanced to her face and saw that her eyes were almost fully closed; he could see the slightest hint of the blue through the smallest of slits. Gaining courage at her reaction, he leaned towards her and took the other nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently.

Sansa couldn't believe all the sensations she was feeling: the coolness in the air, his fingers on her skin, skimming over her nipple and the sudden wet warmth she felt between her legs when he took her breast into his mouth. She didn't know this could feel so good. She laced her fingers through his hair, wanting to keep him from moving away, it felt too good. Sandor was encouraged by Sansas actions and the quiet whimpers he was able to elicit from her and became more aggressive, nibbling her skin gently.

They were interrupted by a pounding on the door. "Seven buggering Hells!" Sandor growled, "who is it?"

"It's Shae, m'lady's handmaid," was the response through the heavy door.

Sansa stood and fixed her dress as best she could on her own before replying, "Come in, Shae."

Shae opened the door just enough to squeeze through before shutting it quickly behind her. "My apologies for interrupting, but the King has requested the presence of his Hound. He sent Ser Mandon for you but I thought it best that he wait outside," she answered, nodding pointedly as she took in Sansas' dishevelled appearance.

Sandor growled to himself quietly.

"Will you go with Ser Mandon?"

"Give me a moment, would you? Damn woman," he shouted angrily. He wasn't angry at her, he was angry at Joffrey and that thrice damned knight outside the door.

When he regained his composure, and control of himself, he stood and bid good night to both Shae and Sansa before slamming the door shut behind him. He shoved Ser Mandon into the stone wall before storming down the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

******Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N:** I received well over 1000 hits in one day on that last chapter AND the number of total reviews is the highest I have had for any story! Small victories for me, but victories none the less. You get this chapter early because I have the next one done already. Enjoy and as always, reviews are appreciated. Thank you everyone for all your support!

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Sansa shifted in her seat for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. She could swear that her hair was taking hours to dry and have brushed. She knew why she was anxious but was still working on the courage needed to ask.

Shae had noticed her mistress's anxiety but knew by now that it really was not her place to say anything about it. She just shifted her stance whenever Sansa shifted her pose. She had tried several times to talk to Sansa, to coax her to say something but all she managed to get out of her was quick one word answers.

"There, you're hair is brushed and pinned. Do you need anything else from me m'lady?" Shae asked. She hoped the tone of her voice carried the implication that Sansa could talk to her, should that be what she wanted.

"Thank you Shae," Sansa responded looking pensive. She had not dismissed Shae so she stood there waiting for Sansa to say something. "You once told me that you knew about what happens in the marriage bed," she started.

Shae nodded, "yes, that is true."

Sansa regained her pensive expression. "Could you teach me?"

"I can teach you the arts of a good lover and how to please a man. What I cannot teach you is how to love a man."

Shae had never loved a man in her life but she was experienced enough to know what love looked like when she saw it. She could see the small sprouting of it when Sansa spoke to her of Sandor Clegane. Sansa however, didn't know to recognise it for what it was yet. She was yet too young, too naive.

"I don't love anyone," she was quick to reply, her expression clearly saying that the topic was not one for discussion. "Sandor has treated me well; with kindness and gentleness. Despite that, we both know there are expectations that need to be met and there is a limited amount of time in which to do that. If this is something that I must follow through with, than I want to do well at it," Sansa explained.

Shae nodded. Tyrion had told her that Cersei had insisted Sansa return to Court. She had said that when Sansa became Queen, there were certain discomforts that would have to be borne and it was about time that she learned. Luckily for Sansa, with Tyrion and the Hound in the room, Joffrey was less inclined to shame her, as was his custom whenever he could. Sansa still had nightmares of the day she was stripped and beaten. Sandor had draped her in his white cloak after Tyrion had intervened. She did take joy in the lecture that Joffrey received from his Uncle before she had been taken away. Shae had been there for her many a nights when she woke from her terrors.

"I know I am uneducated in this respect but I do know that there are ways for a woman to please a man that he would be unable to teach me. I want to learn to please him." Sansa focused solely on her words and kept her eyes on the floor. Asking such things embarrassed her to no end. She was sure it was not proper of a lady to ask about these things and they certainly weren't talked about.

"Very well, we shall begin," Shae answered succinctly. She led Sansa back to her bed chamber. It would be more private than Sansas' chambers and no one would look for her there. "Take off your robe and lay on the bed," she commanded. Sansas' eyes went wide but she did as she was bid. She wore her small clothes under the robe so she didn't feel wholly exposed. What she didn't expect was for Shae to climb atop the bed and straddle her middle.

"Shae!" she shouted in surprise, "I don't think..."

"You wanted to learn. This is how I know to teach." Sansa immediately shut her mouth and nodded. "First, there are parts of a man that are very sensitive. Have you ever touched him where he reacted differently?"

Sansa thought back to one of their earliest lessons. The first time she had seen him bare-chested. He had a long scar that went from his armpit to his naval. She had run her finger along it until he pulled her away. He had told her that she was the most beautiful woman in Westeros. She still couldn't believe that. Sansa smiled at the memory before responding, "Yes, he has a scar on his chest that was quite sensitive when touched."

Shae nodded. "Well there are areas more sensitive than that. Like here for instance," she said, lightly running her finger along the contour of Sansas neck, from the recess behind her ear, down to her collar bone. Sansa shuddered at the touch. "But don't touch him with your fingers alone, use your lips, use your tongue, as well as your fingers." Even the way she said the words was sensual.

"What are the others?"

"We are getting there," she said, moving her fingers ever so carefully along the sensitive skin of Sansas inner arms, watching as goose bumps followed her hands. She wanted Sansa to see the reactions that could be caused, not just learn of them.

While Sansa was being taught the arts of touch by Shae, Sandor was in the Kings solar being interrogated about her.

"She doesn't seem afraid, Hound. She still looks me in the eye with too much boldness. You aren't doing enough." Sansa had irritated Joffrey since she had seen him humiliated by Arya when she had thrown his sword into the river. Even his father had mocked him for that. Ever since then, he thought she believed herself above him. He hated that. He wanted her to know that she was below him, like a slug stuck under his boot.

"I assure you, Your Grace, the girl is submissive," Sandor replied, acting as though he were bored. "The Queen has spoken with her and insisted that she keep a strong appearance for when she must rule alongside you but she knows where her place is."

"My mother is the Queen _Regent_. She is no longer the Queen. I rule the Seven Kingdoms," Joffrey spat venomously. "Regardless, she no longer seems to be in the agony and despair that was reported to me several weeks back. Is she so submissive that she doesn't need to be reminded?" he continued with a sneer.

Sandor had to fight not to roll his eyes. He would rather drop the little shit into the moat than do his bidding, but to do that would mean his head. "She is well disciplined when she acts out I assure you, and now and again, just so she doesn't forget. I have remembered you like her pretty so I have not touched her face."

Joffrey nodded, liking what he heard and sent him away.

"You already know his chest is a pleasing spot for him so we can skip that," Shae lectured, gliding her fingers over Sansas ribcage. It was an odd feeling for Sansa; it tickled but it also felt good. She could feel her nipples harden and had to resist the urge to arch her back. Shae merely smiled at her. "A spot that when touched, will stimulate any man, or woman for that matter, is right here," Shae leaned back and dragged her nails gingerly over the junction where Sansa hip met her thigh. She tried to flinch away. "See? Even you react to such a touch. And finally, the most sensitive spot is his cock." Sansa didn't like her harsh words, but didn't interrupt, this was the spot she had heard hushed whispers about.

Later that day, Sandor went to see Sansa, as usual. He hadn't seen her for several days, which was just as well. He had been told him her moon blood was upon her and she wasn't feeling well. That was an aspect of womanhood that he had never been exposed to and had no desire to be. He wouldn't know how to react if what he heard was true about women becoming moody and whatnot.

As much as he would have enjoyed teaching her that day, he wanted to talk with her instead. Shae let him into her room and excused herself quickly.

"Sansa?" he called. Usually it was she who met him when he came. He found it odd that it wasn't the case this time. Sansa walked out of her bathing room and stunned him into absolute silence.

Cersei had Sansa fit for new dresses after so many of hers were damaged when she tried to set her bed aflame. Many of these dresses were a lot less modest than Sansa was accustomed to and the one she chose this evening, the least modest of them all. It was a deep red, laced with gold threads at the hem, cuffs and neck line. The neckline itself plunging low enough to amply expose the tops of her breasts. Sandors head was immediately filled with the memory of one of their last meetings where she had allowed him to suckle and fondle those breasts. With these memories in his mind, he was unable to keep his feet and dropped onto the corner of the trunk at the end of her bed.

"Good evening," she said, in a sultry voice that was not her own as she strode towards him. _Be bold, be brave, _she kept telling herself.

Sandor felt as though he was paralyzed, a feeling he had never felt before. This was also a side of Sansa that was quite new to him. "Good evening," he choked out, still mesmerized by her appearance. He couldn't do anything but watch as she made her way to him. She half-knelt on her bed, behind Sandor, bending one leg under her and the other on the floor to keep her balance as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Sansa, what are you doing?" he asked, partially turning his head towards her, feeling his heart hammering in his chest.

"I'm putting my lessons to good use," she whispered, lips hot against his ear.

Sandor shook his head, that wasn't why he came here tonight. He wanted to talk to her. "Sansa, please, you don't need to do that," he said, taking her arm and leading her gently in front of him. Her eyes were downcast as she stood in front of him. "What's the matter?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"Was I...did I not do well?" she asked in a small voice. She tried to remember everything Shae had showed her and didn't think she had forgotten anything. "I just wanted to be able to please you."

Sandor was taken aback. He had never considered that she would ever want to please him. He was always concerned with making her feel good. "Little bird," he started, taking her chin gently in a calloused hand to make her look at him, "you were doing beautifully. You don't know how to do something poorly and I assure you, you do please me, very much," he finished taking his hand away from her face. Standing up, he continued, "but I came here tonight to speak with you."

She let him take her hand and lead her to her sitting area. As with their initial meeting, she took one seat and he took another. "I spoke with Joffrey today."

Sansa sucked in her breath. She hadn't seen much of the king nor allowed her to see much of her. When she did go to court, she stayed on the second balcony and no closer than the third row. She was told she needed to attend. That didn't mean she had to be front and centre.

"He doesn't think you are submissive enough. I told him that was Cerceis' doing; that she wanted you to maintain an appropriate appearance for the sake of maintaining the Kings own. He doesn't seem to have much affection for his mother these days so I somehow doubt she will ask her about it."

"What else did he have to say?" Sansa would have to remember the finer points and play her part better. If the King had noticed various nuances, it was likely others would have as well.

"It wasn't so much what he said but how he said things and how he looked," Sandor replied, chuckling to himself.

"What is so funny?"

"I suspect that one of the things that the King dislikes most about you is that you are taller than he is. He doesn't like that he has to look up when he feels you should be beneath him," he explained.

Suddenly Sansa burst into near hysterical laughter, which Sandor couldn't help but join in with. When the laughter subsided, Sansa tried to explain herself between gulps of air. "I noticed I was taller months ago. I ensure I stand to my full height when next to him on purpose. Surely I can't be blamed by the whole court for my height," she finished, her laughter subsiding.

Sandors face turned serious, "Aye little bird, the court won't hate you but it won't do you any favours with Joffrey. You know how he is."

"May the Gods damn Joffrey to the deepest and darkest of the seven hells or all of eternity! We will be free of him soon, won't we?" she said with a boldness she was beginning to truly feel.

"As much as I agree with you, we both have a part to play until that time. For the sake of your skin, please, play the part that will please him most. I don't want to see him harm you again," Sandor said in a pleading tone, reaching across the table to take her hand in his.

Sansa watched as his thumb played over the palm of her hand. He wouldn't let Joff hurt her. She knew that. But if Joffrey wanted to and Sandor tried to stop him or ignored a command to harm her, it could mean his life, despite him being a loyal servant for so many years. She would not be able to bear it if his blood were on his hands. Sansa sighed, "alright, I will play the part of their stupid little dove. For you, not for me," she finished, caressing his rough palm in return.


	8. Chapter 8

******Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N:** So this is my longest chapter yet and it pretty much wrote itself, which is nice. I am going to try to get as much of this story written this week as I can because they are going to be messing with my shifts at work again so my free time will be decreased. So please, bear with me and be patient. I will do my best to continue to update regularly. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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"Oh, you are magnificent, my giant of Lannister," Shae crooned as he rolled off of her.

"You do know how to please a man, my dear," Tyrion responded. He often forgot that she was a whore and as usual, it was she who reminded him.

"It is what you pay me for," she replied, walking to the basin to clean herself.

"Oh, yes. I had forgotten that point," he admitted, taking a drink from the goblet on the bedside table. "How are you enjoying being Sansa Starks handmaid?" he asked when it was clear she was not going to say anything further to him.

Shae shrugged, "she doesn't ask much of me and spends hours distracted with one thing or another, and it's the easiest money I have ever earned. And she doesn't cry all the time like that other, fat one did," she finished, referring to Lollys Stokeworth.

"And her lessons with the Hound? What do they do during these times?" Tyrion had a genuine curiosity. He saw how she was in court: her eyes would shoot daggers through Joffreys' chest if it was possible but the fear that used to be plainly there when she was in the Hounds shadow was gone. He already knew of Sandors affections towards Sansa. Even at Winterfell, he would watch the girl carefully from a distance. Now that he had the Kings permission and his command to fuck the girl senseless, it intrigued Tyrion to know why he hadn't.

Again, Shae shrugged as she crawled back into bed. "I'm not there when he is with her so I don't know," she lied. Sansa had confided in her many times about her hours with Sandor but she liked the young girl sincerely and knew Sansa wouldn't want the Imp to know her goings-on.

"Hmm," was Tyrions only reply. He had asked Varys about the girl and even his little birds and spiders had no knowledge of what went on. As for Shae, she was the only person whom he could not discern truth from lie.

Sansa sneaked along the dark hallway, making sure she stayed in the shadows. She was able to walk the common areas of the castle without raising suspicion but the farther she went from the courtyards and nobility's rooms, the more questions would be asked. Sandor had told her where his room was in case she ever needed him. It was hard to maintain her bearings in the failing dusk but there were enough torches that she didn't stumble. It seemed this part of the castle was all but deserted. She hadn't seen any sign nor heard any sound of anyone since she entered the tower. Despite this, she was sure someone would hear how loud her heart was beating. If she was caught, what could she say? When she finally made it to his room, she knocked as loudly as she dared, hoping he heard through the heavy wood.

The door was yanked open, startling Sansa who let out a gasp. "Sansa? Come in, come in," he said ushering her in quickly before closing the door behind her. "Are you alright? What's happened?" He was running his hands up and down her arms, gently grabbing her face, turning it one direction or another, looking for cuts or bleeding, terrified that she was hurt.

She put her hands on his chest to calm him. "I'm alright Sandor, nothing's happened," she said, trying to reassure him.

"Thank the Gods," he said, encircling her in his arms. "Why have you come here then? What if you were caught?" A thousand different scenarios were now running through his head. He couldn't protect her if he didn't know she was out of her cage. Not to mention, with the scum of the city being allowed to man the walls with free drink in the evening, it really wasn't safe for any female, be it maiden or old hag to be out after sundown.

"I just wanted to see you," she answered meekly after he let her go. "I-I missed you," she admitted.

"You wanted to see me? Why?" Only in his deepest thoughts had he allowed himself to think that Sansa would ever want to be with him in any way. This new open affection intimidated him more that any sword. It also made him skeptical and quickly on the defense. "I'm sure there are plenty of others in this castle who would be more than willing to spend time with you should you seek companionship." The sneer in which he said it was not Sandor, not the one she knew. She was facing the Hound.

Sansa stepped back from him. "Why are you being so mean?" she asked. She would not let the tears that were threatening fall to do so.

"LOOK AT ME!" he bellowed taking her by the shoulders and pulling her face close to her. He wanted to push her away. Her offering him such affectionate words, followed by a tone of such angst was something he couldn't bear.

She wrenched away from him and slapped him hard across his face. "I am looking at you Sandor! Just as I have looked upon you daily for months now. Maybe you should look at yourself now and again!" she responded in a voice much more calm than his.

The slap brought him back around and she could see his shoulders slump with defeat as the Hound slipped from his features. "You deserve to spend your hours with one of your handsome knights, not some scarred mutt." He was in foul mood before she had arrived tonight and seeing her didn't shake it. He had immediately regretted yelling at her and knew he deserved the slap he received and so much more. Sulking, he sat on the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands; wishing he could drink away this night.

He felt the bed give into her weight next to him and unexpectedly felt as though he was reliving a dream. He could feel her lips on his neck, teasing his hairline. "Sansa..."he breathed. Tonight, he couldn't have stopped her if it was his last wish, he hadn't the willpower.

"Shh," she cooed as she raked her hands into his hair, pulling it back away from his face to give her more access to his shoulders. He was only wearing his undershirt which was always loose fitting and so was able to push it aside easily and continue her administrations against his bare skin. Sandor rolled his head to one side. Sandor felt the coolness of the room and the absence of her lips before he felt her stand.

His eyes shot open. "Sansa?" he called, giving his eyes a moment to regain their focus. She had moved to stand directly in front of him she didn't move for a moment; instead she smiled shyly before moving to pull his shirt up and over his head. He gave her no resistance and even helped her remove it.

Sansa pushed on his shoulders lightly, gesturing for him to lie back. She knew full well she could not force him to do anything should he wish not to, which wasn't the case this night. He was compliant and lay back without hesitation. Sansa hitched her skirts enough to allow her enough movement to climb atop the bed, straddling his middle. Sandor couldn't help but close his eyes and release and audible groan. Between the feeling of her weight straddled across his groin and the heat he could feel emanating through the layers of clothing, he was undone, the Stranger himself would not have the power to take him from this room tonight.

Sansa smiled. For the first time in her entire life, she felt an odd sense of power. She had the fierce, violent Hound laying submissively under her legs. She remembered Cersei once telling her that a woman's most powerful weapon was between her legs. Sansa shook the thought out of her head. She was not a woman like Cersei and Sandor was not a man to be solely lead by his cock. He had to want it and not just from anyone. She knew he would not have allowed Cersei to do this to him. Regardless, that small sense of power gave her courage.

She leaned forward and nipped his collarbone gently before running her nose along the edge of his jaw. It surprised him that she chose the scarred side, which held very little feeling. It did give him some relief for her sake that because of the care she undertook on his weeping burns, they no longer itched or wept. That side of his face certainly wasn't handsome but it was as healed as it would ever be, with fresh new skin and scar tissue covering the once exposed bone on his jaw. Sansa kissed these new scars before forming a trail down his neck. As she was kissing his neck and collar, her fingers were lazily dancing along his sides, across his ribs.

Sandors muscles twitched and tightened reflexively under her touch. His hands went to her waist, both because of the need to be touching her as well as a want to reassure himself that this was not a cruel trick of his imagination.

Sansa was following the trail of scars that marred his chest, kissing each one lightly. Her hair was cascading over her shoulders enveloping her in a circle of auburn. She teased his nipples gently with her teeth as he had done to her, relishing in the hiss that he released. Her hands continued to roam over his ribs and abdomen before finally trying to hook under the waist of his breeches.

Sandors eyes shot open immediately as he reached for her wrists. "Not so fast, little bird," he gasped, using the last shred of resolve he possessed. As much as he would have enjoyed her actions, he wouldn't allow her to go to that length without him pleasing her in that way first, but the fact that she was so willing was reassuring. She looked hurt then confused. "We'll get there but not tonight," he promised. He pulled her arms forward and kissed her gently on the lips before flipping them both so he was on top now.

He released her arms and turned them towards the pillows where they would both be more comfortable before returning to kiss her again. Lying side by side, Sansa was able to snake one hand around his neck while the other roamed his back. Sandors hands roamed her body restlessly, taking her dress in fistfuls. She wore one of her last northern dresses. Catelyn had it made for her just before she left knowing she would grow taller so it still fit. As was the style of the north, the dress was much looser than the style of Kings Landing and simple ties kept it snug. Sandor was not fond of the endless laces that were the Queens preference. He made quick work of the simple ties and gradually worked the dress up. He ran his hands over the silk small clothes underneath and groaned into Sansas kiss.

Sansa felt the cool air of his rooms as he worked the dress up her legs, over her hips and stopped kissing him when it was bunched around her chest. She pulled away from him and boldly pulled the dress up and over her head, discarding it on the floor behind her before returning to kiss him.

"The wolf has come tonight, I see?" Sandor stated teasingly, watching her pull the dress off. She only smiled at him before taking his lips in her own. Sandor was enjoying the brazen side of the woman he was seeing now. This was how Sansa was supposed to be. Not the timid and caged little bird that Kings Landing had made her into. This never would have happened to her in the North. She let his hands roam freely over her without consternation or complaint. He fondled her breasts through the flimsy fabric before slipping his hand underneath and teasing her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. When he was satisfied with her reactions he slid his calloused hands across her smooth stomach to the laces of her small clothes.

Sansa could hardly breathe. She was overwhelmed at all the sensations that had taken over her body. His hands on her breasts, his lips on her skin, it was like nothing she had ever experienced before. When she felt him pulling at the laces of her small clothes, she froze. No man had seen her naked since she was a babe, but she knew it would have to happen sooner or later. The King commanded it. Besides, this was Sandor and everything he was doing felt so _good_. She didn't expect that he would pull away from her. Suddenly she felt very vulnerable, very exposed.

"Sandor..." she said meekly and he immediately stopped.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, taking her hand.

"Yes, it's just that I've never... I don't..." she didn't know how to explain herself and hated to sound so stupid. She was nervous.

"I know, little bird," he smiled. "We'll go slowly and if you ask me to stop, I will." He hoped to whatever Gods would listen that he was telling the truth. His cock was throbbing painfully against his breeches, the fabric straining visibly. This was new territory for him as well. He had fucked many a woman but foreplay had never been a concern of his. What did he care how it felt for a whore? He was paying for them to take him.

Sansa nodded at him and tried to relax as he felt him slide her under clothes down her legs, helping him by lifting her feet before discarding them with her dress. Sandor gulped to himself. She was watching him closely, he wondered if she could tell that he was unsure how to proceed. He moved his hands behind her calves and tenderly ran the pads of his fingers along the lengh of the smooth skin, subtly using these movements to coax her legs apart and help her relax. When they were far enough apart to expose her inner thighs, he moves his actions there and continued until here was enough space to settle himself in between.

Sansa could feel everything as though every nerve was actively making her feel each touch tenfold. He was barely touching her but still; the roughness of his hands and the grit of his beard along skin she never knew could be so sensitive made her take fistfuls of the bedding in her hand. Her heart was thrumming in her chest at the sensations, the anticipation and the unknown.

Sandor couldn't believe how she was responding to him, or how much he was enjoying something that offered no physical stimulation to himself. As soon as he had removed her smallclothes, he had wanted to bury his face in the red curls that spread between her legs. As it was, he was close enough to her womanhood that he could smell her and the scent was more enticing to him than the sweetest of wines. Against his marred jaw, he could only feel the heat of her inner thigh but on the other he could feel the warmth and the smoothness. He continued kissing his way up and closer to her.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, she could feel the coolness of his breath on her and felt an odd reflexive twitch in her groin. Afterwards the muscles there felt somehow tighter. She could feel his lips on her thighs, working their way higher until he kissed just below the mound of hair that grew there. His lips were momentarily replaced by his hand as he separated the moist pink folds and began running his tongue along the length of them, starting from the outermost folds. When his tongue found the small ball at the very top of her opening, Sansa forced herself not to arch her back but she couldn't prevent herself from whimpering.

Sandor knew she was trying to keep still and it was a battle she was losing. Burying his face in her hair was a sweet agony he would suffer always if he could, her scent one he would never forget. When he finally stretched his tongue out for his first taste of her, he felt as though he couldn't stop. She tasted tangy, almost salty. The closer he moved to her opening, the more intense was the taste. By this point, she was whimpering almost continuously, a noise he was certain would be his ultimate undoing. She was wet and delicious, he tried to reach his tongue into her, finding her too tight for him to get too far in, but he willingly took what was given. He moved back again to the small, tight bundle of nerves that she had reacted so severely to and experimented by suckling on it gently.

Sansa had been clenching her teeth so tightly her jaw began to hurt. When Sandor went back to her clitoris, she couldn't stop her hips from bucking in reaction. The endless stream of whimpers she was eliciting would have been embarrassing to her if she wasn't so distracted. The muscles in her legs, arms chest and groin were alternately flexing and relaxing no matter how much she tried to control them. The feelings were coming on her faster and faster, the sensations she was feeling amplifying with each reflex until it felt as though every muscle had seized. Her back arched into the sensations, her toes curling as waved of ecstasy rolled off her body in waves. She cried out his name as she orgasmed before letting her body relax back into the furs.

When Sandor began suckling on her clitoris, he felt her start to squirm above him. This was reassuring, as was the feeling of her thighs beginning to press against his head, as though she was trying to keep him from backing away. He could feel the muscles of her body and her core tightening continuously and he knew she was close to her release. He didn't relent in his actions even as she arched her back into her orgasm. Her juices began spilling out of her. He didn't know that happened to women as it did men, but he licked it up eagerly, savouring the taste. Sansa was panting heavily as he drew himself away from here. She could do nothing but watch him lazily as he pulled up a blanket from the bottom of the bed to cover her with as he tucked himself in next to her again.

Sandor had never cuddled before and found he was quite content to just lay there with Sansa enjoying the quiet. Eventually, they had to stir; Sansa had to be taken back to her rooms. Her absence would not go unnoticed for long. It was considerably later than Sansa should have been out and Sandor knew that the men would be well into their cups. As they made their way across the noisy court yard where the men were holding their festivities, a bold young squire who had too much to drink dared to brave the Hound and tried to reach for Sansa.

"Oy! Clegane! It's about time you share the traitor bitch. Let us have a go at her," the boy commented lewdly. Sandor grabbed the man by his collar, dragged him off his feet so they were face to face and uttered a feral, guttural sound that Sansa could only describe as a growl, before throwing the squire into the dirt. The other men who saw this interaction and knew the Hound didn't dare to try repeat the action.

Sandor grabbed Sansa harshly by the arm and pulled her closer to him. She knew the game he was trying to play so she acted as though she was being dragged forcibly. After they cleared that yard, the rest of the way was quiet. They kept to the shadows, just as she had on her way to his rooms that night and went undisturbed.


	9. Chapter 9

******Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N: **Another two chapters PLUS the epilogue have been written so that should tell you we are relatively close to the end. But fear not, we still have a little bit to go. Some readers have predicted and even inspired some of the events in this chapter. To all those who have reviewed, thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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As she expected, Sansa was summoned to attend court yet again the next morning. The resumed her accustomed spot on the second floor balcony and tried to keep herself relatively hidden. She could tell from her vantage point that Joffrey was already thoroughly bored with the days' proceedings. He despised the "annoying natterings of the stupid, simple commoners." He thought that they should be grateful for what little he did for them. She was sure the feeling was mutual. Their homes were being burned to the ground; they were all starving and infectious disease was spreading like wildfire. All the while, the king sat well-fed in this castle not caring about his people.

"That's enough from the commons today. The rest can come again tomorrow," Joffrey said, interrupting one man in the middle of his plea. He gestured to his guards to herd the remaining people out of the hall. Sansa knew it would be Cersei listening to their pleas the next day.

It was only the ladies and the gentlemen of the court that remained. Sandor stood in his usual place to one side of the Iron Throne, his white cloak in stark contrast to the plain, dark hue of his plate. He would regularly scan the faces of the audience, always stopping for an extra moment on Sansa without appearing too conspicuous; or so he hoped.

"Where is my betrothed? Where is Sansa?" Joffrey called out unexpectedly. He hadn't called her out at court since before her short absence. "I have some news to share with her," he finished, a malevolent grin already on his face.

Sansa sucked in her breath and made her way through the crowd and down the stairs. She curtsied demurely in front of the throne, "I am here, Your Grace," she started. "What news have you to share with me?" she asked, trying to keep a tone of affection in her voice. He was after all still her future husband regardless of how much the thought disturbed and disgusted her.

"We have received the most recent report of the war," he opened. Sansa could feel the blood draining from her face, knowing this news could not bode well for her. "Your traitorous brother still has my uncle as prisoner and will not give him up." This news was not new. Robb was a king now and the purse would have to very sweet for him to even consider handing over the Kingslayer.

"My brother is a traitor and is very stupid to have ignored you, Your Grace but I promise that I have played no part in his actions."

"You think so?" he quipped. "If he is so stupid, how does he keep managing to evade and defeat my men, my armies?" he continued, not giving her a chance to respond. "If you think him stupid, my soldiers must be incompetently simple in your opinion." Sansa immediately knew where this as headed and wondered who it would fall on to punish her this time. Ser Mandon? Ser Meryn? Or perhaps one of the Kettleblacks. Those two were the Queens pets.

"I thought we had broken you of your habits of disrespect by now," he commented drolly. "Perhaps you need a reminder. Hound! Teach her."

Sansa's legs turned to water under her and she fell to her knees to the cold stone floor; a scream of "NNOOOOOOOO..." tearing out of her throat. She new Sandor would refuse and Joffrey's temper was not to be relied on. Her tears came spilling in unbidden streams down her face. "No, please Your Grace, not him, anyone but him," she begged between sobs. Her whole body was quaking in fear for the big man.

Sandor's attention had been immediately focused on what was happening as soon as the king called Sansa's name. Until then, he had been distracting himself to pass the time with the memories of the previous evening. She had willingly come to him with the intent of pleasing _him_. Where had she come up with that notion, he was sure he would never know. Instead, he had gently refused her advances and gave her pleasure instead. He would give his life a thousand times to be able to relive that night. After she had peaked, he had laid alongside her, wrapping her in his arms. He remembered how strongly her pulse was beating just under her skin, gradually returning to normal. They stayed like this for some time. Sansa would periodically nuzzle her nose along the rough stubble of his chin and neck affectionately. He had never felt so content in his life. Eventually, he did have to relent and take his little bird back to her cage. Now, his entire focus was deviated back to the present, watching Joffrey's every movement. He would not and could not stand by and watch her get beaten again. He saw the faults in Sansa's choice of words as she did the moment they were out of her mouth. When Joffrey said she would need a reminder, Sandor had even wondered momentarily which of his so-called brothers he would be killing that day, his hand tightening on the pommel of his sword. When Joffrey had called his name he froze unwillingly for a moment before being shaken out of his pause by the shrieking wail of Sansa. He went to go to her immediately out of instinct but stopped in his tracks. They still needed to play the game.

"_When you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die."_

Sansa's reaction even stunned Joffrey. He was shocked into momentary silence. When he did recover, the malevolence was quick to return to his expression. He took her hysterics and quaking to mean she was afraid of the Hound, not afraid for the Hound. Regardless of interpretation, it pleased him. He wanted her submissive; he thrived on it and even lusted on it. "I've changed my mind. Hound, take her to her chambers. Be sure she stays there for a while." His implication was clear and the thought of her being raped by a man that she was absolutely terrified by, thrilled him beyond expression.

Sandor stepped towards Sansa and hauled her to her feet. Continuing the facade, he shoved her towards the doors, shooting fierce glares at any man or woman who stood too close. The crowd retreated back under his stare, clearing a path to the great doors.

When they reached the steps that lead to Sansa's rooms, the halls were entirely deserted. They hurried up the stairs and into Sansa's rooms, dropping their facades. As soon as the door was barred, Sansa rushed into his arms, not caring about the cold, hard plate he was clad in.

"Sandor! I was so scared," she gushed, holding onto him as though he would disappear otherwise.

"Whatever for, little bird?" he asked. "You know I would never lay a finger on you in harm." He felt hurt. They had been together regularly for half a year and in that time his main focus was to gain her trust, to let her know that there were men that could be trusted not to bring her harm. The rest of their lessons were more of a welcomed expectation. After all this time, to learn that she still feared him, upset him the most.

"I know you would never hurt me. That is what terrified me the most. If you refused him, he would cause you harm, or worse." She explained trailing off with a shudder, unable to bring herself to say the final words. Sandor felt abashed at his own thoughts just a moment ago. He would really need to trust the young woman as much as he wanted her to trust him. "I couldn't bear it if you weren't here. You're the only one who truly cares for me," she finished openly, tightening her grip on him.

"Aye, that I do, Sansa," he answered to her statement, kissing the crown of her head. "You needn't worry about me. None of those bloody arses could hold a sword against me for long and live to tell the tale," he said trying to reassure her. His words were only half-truth. Yes, he could easily defeat any man in combat or even a few men at once if he needed to. But he knew there was no way he would ever survive against all the Kingsguard, the City Watch and the sea of crimson cloaks that had infested the castle.

Sansa untangled herself from Sandor and reached up to unclasp his cloak.

"What are you doing now, little bird?" he asked.

Sansa smiled at him. "You're supposed to ensure I don't leave my room for a while. I'm sure your armour isn't the most comfortable thing to wear." She was right about that. He followed her lead and worked on undoing the buckles that held his armour in place. He had managed to convince her of his safety and she had already knows he was a formidable swordsman so she was comfortable with his wellbeing.

Sansa went to sit in a chair, gesturing for Sandor to take the other. In the confines of her room, with no little birds (besides herself) or spiders, she knew they would be able to speak of their intentions. "Has there been any word on when Stannis will attack?" she asked. She knew that their future was entirely dependent on that siege.

Sandor shook his head. "No, his armies remain on the other side of the Blackwater biding their time while they wait for the remainder of their fleet."

Sansa nodded pensively. "What shall we do when we escape? How shall we leave?" She had been wondering about this daily now that she could see the encampment so clearly. She had her bag almost entirely packed and tucked at the bottom of her wardrobe in anticipation.

"We will have to avoid the Kingsroad so we will likely take some animal and farm trails north through Rosby and Antlers, through to Maidenpool. From there, we will turn northwest if it is safe, following the river until we reach the Trident. At that point we will take the Red Fork until we reach Riverrun, where if luck is in our favour, you will be reunited with your mother and brother," he explained. He didn't have map with him but his geography was sound and he made it all sound so easy when she knew it was so very, very far.

"What will you do after that?" she asked pensively. She hoped that he would stay at Riverrun and eventually go with her to Winterfell. Where else had he to go?

Sandor shrugged. "I hadn't thought much on that. We will have to see what your mother and brother think of me. If they don't throw me out on my arse the second you cross the bridge at Riverrun, I would be willing to lend my sword to their cause if they would allow it." Sansa's face lit up in excitement. She had thought he would go to the Free Cities or travel as a rogue. To hear him say otherwise was the greatest news he could share with her.

"Truly? You mean it?" she asked grinning with excitement. She could not help jumping out of her chair and throwing her arms around him and kissing him hard on his lips. Pulling away, Sansa could see the intense confusion at her reaction clear in his expression. Sansa trusted him truly and wholly and so decided to drop the last of her walls. "My dear Sandor, can you be so deceived by yourself?" she asked. "You've become more to me than a teacher or a friend. I've come to trust and care for you like I thought I was no longer capable of," she explained openly, cupping his cheek in her palm.

Sandor had no words for her so decided to try to pour everything he wanted to say into a passionate kiss. He didn't know if it was possible for him to convey all the emotions and affections he felt for her in a kiss but she seemed to reciprocate, leaning into his lips, tightening her hold around his neck. He held her to him, unable to let her go for several minutes. Sandor moved his lips down her neck, nipping at her collarbone and the smooth, exposed skin of her breasts lightly. If he left visible marks, it was all the better for their game but ultimately he didn't care.

After experiencing as much of her as he had the previous night, he could not help himself now. He scooped her up; his face still buried against her breasts and made his way to her bed. He carefully laid her down on the soft furs and lay on top of her, nestling his hips between her legs and trying to disperse the rest of his weight so as not to crush her. He fondled her breasts roughly through the velvet bodice before growling in frustration and tearing the offending fabric. It gave way easily, exposing her chest. Sandor groaned, pressing his hips against her in desire before taking one breast into his mouth.

Sandor's response to Sansa could not have gone better could she have planned it. His lips on her, passionately conveying all the feelings she knew he could not put into words. The warm wetness she experienced while she was with him had become familiar and welcome. This feeling had been amplified at the thrill of him tearing her dress after carrying her to her bed. She knew that the news of the torn dress would be conveyed to Cersei and subsequently Joffrey by the washerwoman but that could only do to help their cause.

Sansa tugged on the rough material of his tunic. She wanted to see the hard cords of muscles that stretched along the length of his torso. They had come to represent the strength and safety that Sandor brought for her, not to mention she felt them an attractive attribute of the man as well. Sandor pulled the tunic over his head and discarded it on the floor.

Sandor grazed his teeth lightly over tightly budded nipples, teasing the other between his thumb and forefinger. All the while, Sansas hands were wandering aimlessly across his back, scratching lightly, and into his hair. She nudged him with her knees, gesturing for him to come up again so she could kiss him.

He was more than keen to comply. She opened her mouth willingly for him. He wasted no time. He delved in, exploring her mouth and massaging her tongue with his own. Sansa became decidedly more aggressive, fighting him for control. Her nails were scratching red marks over his ribs, finally reaching for the belt to his breeches. Sandor went to stop her as he always did.

"Sandor, please," she asked quietly. "I know I don't have to do anything; that you don't expect me to do anything. I want to please you. Please let me try?" she pleaded, holding his face in her hands.

He was undone. He knew he would do damn near anything she asked and what man would refuse such an offer? He rolled off of her and lay propped against the pillows. Sansa smiled at him, happy that he finally gave in. She freed her arms from the torn dress and straddled him, much like she had done the previous night. She proceeded to do all the things Shae had taught her, being sure to gently rock her hips into his groin. Sandor's head was swimming. Sansa's lips were trailing light and hot across his shoulders and chest, her hands undoing his belt at an excruciating rate. As she kissed her way down his torso, she shimmied her hips down his legs, Sandor groaned at the friction against his cock. She finally managed to unbuckle his belt and loosen the drawstrings on his breeches.

Sansa gulped audibly to herself. She had experienced so many new things with Sandor but this was something new altogether. She just hoped she could make him feel a fraction of how he made her feel that previous night. As for Sandor, he had never felt such anxiety in his life. When he felt his belt fall to one side and the draw strings on his pants give way, he wasn't sure he could contain himself, especially after Sansa had spent several minutes rubbing herself against him.

Sansa's fingers slipped under the waist of his breeches, tugging at them to get them off. Sandor did the best he could to help her in his distracted state by lifting his hips so she could slip them down. She carefully pulled the fabric up and over his erection, unable to prevent herself from staring at it once it was exposed. She had seen animal genitals before but never associated them seriously with men. Black hair grew in thick curls around the base and over his testicles, his penis stood long and hard against his belly, twitching periodically. Sansa chewed on her lip for a moment deciding how to proceed, aware of Sandor's gaze never leaving her. She leaned forward slightly, put her hands on his belly above his hips and dragged her finger nails over the taught skin, running them through the coarse hair before lightly running a finger ever so lightly up the length of his shaft. She pulled back momentarily after it twitched and jumped unexpectedly before returned her fingers to the soft skin. She ran the pads of her fingers around and up the shaft experimentally before surrounding it in her grip. Gently she moved the skin up and down the length as Shae had explained to her, glancing up at Sandor to see him lying rigid, the furs balled tightly in his fists. Sansa scooted down further until she was able to comfortably lean over him and tentatively reached out her tongue and licked at the glistening drop that had formed at his head. Sandor hissed in response, his leg muscles flexing taut but didn't try to stop her. Sansa took this as encouragement and ran her tongue along its length before returning to the head and taking it into her mouth.

Sandor tried to relax his muscles but everything felt so _fucking_ good! He never would have asked this of her in his wildest dreams and having her do this to him was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced in his life. He had women take him into his mouth before but they couldn't hold a light to how it felt when Sansa was doing it. When he felt her tongue on the head of his penis, he felt as though he could spill his seed immediately and feel thoroughly satisfied. That feeling was intensified when she took him into her mouth. She alternated between sucking on the head and rubbing his shaft and taking on almost his full length and fondling his testicles. That was something he had never experienced before. Whores would just suck on him and try to get it done as soon as possible and make away with his coin.

Sansa felt damn near giddy and rebellious. Her septa would be rolling in her grave right now, she was sure of it. She didn't care though. Her only focus was to please Sandor as he had her. He was eliciting groans and hisses of pleasure under her touch, his muscles contracting tightly as she continued. She experimented with changing her tempo and grip, testing to see how he reacted. She quickly learned he liked to have his head teased, her tongue would dance around his head, one hand holding back his foreskin while the other teased his testicles. She continued in this manner, alternating her methods to change his reaction until she could feel his entire body tense and flex under her.

"Sansa..." Sandor started, trying to warn her, his hands going to her hair.

Sansa knew what was happening, Shae had told her she had two options, she could let him spill on his belly or she could take it in and swallow it. She didn't give it a second thought and ignored the gentle prod of Sandor's hand and moved her mouth and hand faster until she felt his penis pulsate and he came, hot and salty into her mouth. She swallowed it willingly, taking a moment to get over the shock of the taste before backing off for a moment and licking the remainder off his head.

When she was satisfied with herself, she moved back up to lay next to the big man, who after a moment of composing himself, tucked himself back into his breeches.

"You'll be the death of me, woman," he said in a teasing voice before turning on her. They could cuddle later; he would have his torturous vengeance _now_.


	10. Chapter 10

******Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N: **So it is official, the rest of the story has been written. I will post the next chapter in a week, the following a week after and the epilogue will be the following week. It will finish up the week before my birthday. I am going to see the Game of Thrones Exhibition in Toronto in a couple weeks and I am SO excited. That definitely helped with my writing process. Anyways, enough of my babbling. Here is the next chapter. Enjoy and as always, reviews are MOST welcome!

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Sansa was musing to herself in her room as she drank her tea. The Maester had supplied her with moon tea regularly but until recently, Sansa hadn't bothered to drink it. Sandor hadn't pushed her at any point and more or less allowed her to set the pace of their progression. As of late, they were becoming more affectionate and more aggressive. Sandor admitted that he was just as naive as she was in terms of foreplay so they were essentially learning how to please each other. Her favourite thing so far, was to simultaneously pleasure one another. He would lie down and she would straddle him so that she could take him into her mouth while he could do the same to her. It was hard to focus when they did that but it was exhilarating. Even thinking of their times together made her feel wet and wanting. She squirmed in her seat, wondering to herself what it would feel like to be bedded by him. She had asked Shae about it, if it would hurt, what it would feel like, would she bleed? Shae answered her without silly flourishes. Yes, it would hurt the first two times. A maidens' body was not accustomed to such actions being put on it. After she was used to it, and even while she was getting used to it, if it was done right, it would feel good. As for bleeding, Shae said that some maidens don't bleed, but most do. She was of the opinion that it had more to do with how well the woman was prepared beforehand. Armed with this knowledge and that of how gentle Sandor was with her, Sansa was comfortable with the hope that she would not make an embarrassing mess when they did go abed.

In the midst of these ponderings, Shae knocked lightly on the door before entering. "Good afternoon mildy. The Lord Hand wishes to meet with you in his solar."

Sansa smiled at the woman who had taught her so much. She was so thankful for Shae and knew she would be clueless without her. Shae had become her handmaid and knew nothing of what she was supposed to do or act. Sansa was annoyed with her at first but her quirky little traits became endearing. Sansa nodded at Shae before rising to leave to meet with Tyrion.

The walk to the Tower of the Hand was long and wrought with memories. Those of her father, fights with Arya, and lessons with Septa Mordane and she had been brought here when Joffrey had her stripped and beaten. Al l these things seemed so long ago. In a way, they were a long time ago. She had been beaten half a year ago and her father had been killed a year ago now. What would Tyrion want with her today?

She was met by the sellsword called Bronn, sitting on a step picking his nails with his knife outside the Imps solar. The man barely gave her a glance before opening the door and following her in.

"That will be all Bronn," Tyrion said, shooing him away. "I wish for a private audience with the ladies if you please." Bronn shrugged uncaringly and left them alone.

"How may I help you today, my Lord?" Sansa asked apprehensively. She watched the small man carefully. She wasn't here for a social call. She took in the mismatched eyes and multicoloured hair trying to read any sort of purpose in his expression. All she could read was sadness and remorse.

"Lady Sansa, please sit," he bid. Waiting until she did so, he continued, "I have received some news and it is with a most heavy hear that I summoned you today."

"What is it?" she asked, her throat closing tight around the words. Had something happened to Robb? Her mother? Had they found Arya? She could never have dreamed the hell he began to paint.

Sansa tried to keep her expression stony as she faced Tyrion. "Your brother sent your fathers ward, Theon Greyjoy back to Pike in a ploy to bind the Iron Fleet to his numbers and aid him in the war," he started. Sansa could only nod, what had Theon to do with anything? "It seems that the boy had the same ambitions as your brother and combined with his fathers' experience, the Ironborn attacked the North."

She was sure her heart would stop."_Winterfell. Bran. Rickon" _were the only thoughts in her head now.

"Theon attacked Winterfell with small garrison. With so many of the guard killed here, many off with your brother and your Castellan off keeping the peace, on top of the castles familiarity with Theon and believing him to be a friend, it was easily done," he continued.

"M-my brothers, my lord. What news of them?" her voice was shaking. Bran and Rickon were children, Rickon still a babe, surely they were not harmed. Theon had grown up with them, trained with Robb, saved Brans life from Wildlings. Surely he would not do any harm to them!

"I'm sorry, my Lady. Your brothers have been killed, your familial home sacked. After Theon's attack he killed your brothers to make the people abide him through fear. Shortly after, the bastard, Ramsay Snow came on the guise of aiding your Ser Rodrick and a few loyal men and slaughtered them all. I cannot offer enough condolences for your loss. Your brother Bran especially, I had a strong regard for," he concluded. He wished he could offer her some sort of comfort but he knew better. Any attempt from a Lannister would only be contemptuous to her, even more so at time like this.

She tried to keep her expression stony, despite her voice quavering and giving away her anxiety. She couldn't help but feel as though all hope had been lost to her. She had no home and no younger brothers and no sister for all she knew.

As soon as she was able to, she fled the solar, thankful that it wasn't Joffrey to tell her the news. That was something she wouldn't have been able to tolerate. She told Shae she was excused for the day and walked as calmly as she could manage from the Tower of the Hand to the Godswood, reciting the Mothers Prayer repeatedly to distract herself. Finally, when she was met with the comforting solitude of the great heart tree, she curled herself on the soft moss amongst its roots and let herself cry in mourning.

She must have dozed off for some time. She awoke to the dusky gloom of twilight and a familiar voice calling to her.

"Lady Sansa," the voice slurred drunkenly. "It is your Florian."

Sansa had forgotten she was supposed to meet him. She needed to tell him she would not be leaving with him but today was the absolute last day that she wished to do so. She wanted to mourn and cry for her brothers and just be left alone. She stood up and brushed the dirt off her dress as best she could and wiped her face with the back of her hand. She was sure she looked a fright, but she couldn't do anything about that now.

"Good evening, Ser Dontos!" Sansa called trying to sound cheerful. "How do you fair this evening?" she asked, her courtesies coming easily.

"I am doing well, all things considering," he replied, attempting to place a sloppy kiss on Sansa's cheek. "I was told of your brothers, you have my condolences, poor girl," he continued sorrowfully.

"I am glad that you have called to meet with me this evening, Ser. I have to speak with you regarding our intentions," she said, deliberately avoiding the comment of her brothers.

"Oh?" he replied. "What are your concerns?"

"I've no concerns, Ser. I will not be going with you. I appreciate all the hardships I am sure you have gone through in making all arrangements but I have decided that it is not in the best interest for myself," Sansa explained clearly.

"This will not do," the drunken knight mumbled, beginning to pace along the path. "He will not be pleased, not pleased at all."

Sansa watched the poor old fool in confusion. "Who will not be pleased? Who else knows of this?" she demanded, fearfully. What if this was a cruel joke of the king? Could even Joffrey stoop to such cruelty?

"No one, no one, dear girl," he responded shakily. "You must come though. It is not safe for you here!" he pleaded, grasping both of Sansa's arms in his thick hands.

"It will not be safe for me anywhere, Ser. I've no home, my family is scattered. I am as safe here as anywhere," she lied. The fool was not making this easy. She had hoped he would be sufficiently drunk to just accept her words and leave in a stupor. Of course she could not have such luck.

"If you stay here, you shall be killed!" his voice was rising in volume and Sansa began to become concerned about someone overhearing their interaction.

"Leave the girl, Dontos," called a deep voice from the shadows of the covered archway that led to the Godswood.

Ser Dontos quelled his aggression as he stumbled back from Sansa. "Who's there? Show yourself!" he called out in response to the growl, madly pawing for a sword that no longer hung at his waist.

Sansa would have recognized the voice had it been one in a chorus of a thousand. Sandor stepped out of the shadows, his bulk an intimidating sight, heavily clad in his armour. Shae had sought him out in concern for Sansa's wellbeing after she had been absent for so many hours and so he went to her in the wood.

"Clegane!" Dontos called, "what business have you here?" he asked, the ale bolstering his courage once again.

"My business is none of your concern," Sandor responded, stepping between the old man and Sansa. "I suggest you take your business elsewhere, _Ser_. The lady is done with you for this evening." Sandors tone portrayed clearly that he was being definite and it was not up for contest. The fat old man cowed under Sandor's glare before slinking back to the castle. He waited until there was no hint, sight nor sound, of the drunkard before turning his attentions to Sansa.

"What did he say, Sansa?" he asked, gently leading her into the depths of the wood.

Sansa was angry at herself and the stupid old fool. She trusted him! "He said 'he will not be pleased' and was referring to another man. Someone else knows Sandor!" she cried out. She was certain she had no tears left to shed or they would have now.

"No man would dare bring you harm while your brother holds Jaime Lannister and while Joffrey sits the throne. You are safe from all but him for the time being," Sandor responded, doing his best to be reassuring but not lie to her. "Not to mention, as things stand now, you are the heiress to all of the North," he said in allusion to the days' news. "Cersei knows the North will only rally for a Stark. No one else can hold power there. You are damn near untouchable."

Sansa nodded. She knew he was telling her the truth, even though she didn't want to rule in the North. Besides, when she wasn't barred in her room alone, or in court surrounded by hundreds, she was with him. She couldn't be safer. In the serene shadows of the woods, Sansa turned into Sandors' arms and hugged him tightly. She so badly had wished for him when she had news of her brothers. She wanted to be coddled and comforted and he wasn't there. The heart tree offered some small comfort for her but she still felt so desperately alone.

Sandor wrapped his arms around her in response to her doing the same to him. Shae had told him what had happened to her brothers and knew she was seeking comfort for that rather than the actions of Ser Dontos. He stood holding her, his lips pressed against the crown of her head until he felt her begin to shiver in the cool wind that came with the tide as it rolled in.

"It's getting late, little bird. You best be getting back to your rooms," he suggested, his voice gravelly.

Sansa looked up at him as she pulled away from his embrace. She didn't say anything, only nodded.

"I'll be along shortly. I will take my armour to my rooms and then I will come to you," Sandor continued, reading plainly in her expression that she had no wish to be alone tonight. Sansa moved to leave. When she was an arm's length away, he tugged at her hand to get her attention. He pulled her back towards him, taking both her hands in his own. "Look at me Sansa," he prodded, waiting until her sad, blue eyes met his own grey ones. "I would never let anyone harm you," he promised. "You believe that, don't you?" Sansa nodded sullenly in reply. Sandor kissed her forehead affectionately before letting her go.

As promised, Sandor did return to her after he discarded his armour in his own chambers. Sansa let him in before picking up her night gown and robe. She, feeling particularly vulnerable, opted to change in the adjacent room rather than openly in front of Sandor. As she was changing, he removed his boots and sat in the arm chair Sansa had occupied that morning before her world began to crumble. He picked up her discarded tea cup and sniffed it, curious about what flavours she preferred. When the unmistakable and bittersweet aroma of moon tea met his nose, he almost dropped the cup in surprise. She was anticipating their bedding?! The thought hit him like a brisk northern gust. He could feel himself go hard at the thought, immediately feeling ashamed for wanting her at a moment when she was so distraught.

After a short period of time, Sansa emerged from her dressing room clad in her night clothes. Sandor led her to her bed, knowing she was exhausted and followed her under the furs, taking her into his arms. He knew he would spend the night holding her and nothing else. Knowing that she wore nothing under her gown and that she had already begun drinking moon tea for who knows how long, it would be a long and uncomfortable night for him but he would prevail.


	11. Chapter 11

**********Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N:** As usual, thank you everyone for all your reviews. I absolutely adore reading them. This chapter goes out to Sw00n and Tnkerbelle86 for being my most dedicated reviewers. Thank you so much for your support and praise. I am absolutely stoked about this chapter. Normally I don't really like my own writing but this one I am happy with for sure. This is the chapter everyone has been waiting for, I hope you like it!

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"How have your lessons been progressing, little dove?" Cersei asked, watching her sons' expression more than that of the girl standing in front of her. Joffrey pretended not to be paying attention and stabbed at the meat on his plate instead.

Sansa allowed the expected blush to spread across her face. "They've been most instructive, Your Grace," she responded, wiping her lips daintily. This had been the first time Joffrey had asked her to join him for dinner in some time and she would not provoke him. The Hound was standing behind his chair listening and watching everything carefully.

"Good. You will have obligations to fill, the most important bringing forth an heir. If you cannot please your husband, this cannot be fulfilled, which means there is no purpose in keeping you here," Cersei replied. Tyrion almost choked on his wine, knowing of Cersei's relations with Robert...and Jaime.

"I am sure my Dog has been most thorough with his teachings. Grand Maester Pycell will inspect Sansa on the morrow to ensure that the task has been done satisfactorily." Joffrey knew how modest Sansa was and how much she would hate to be inspected by the old and unfamiliar man.

Sansa knew she wasn't ready for such an intimate inspection. Thinking quickly she leaned over to Cersei and whispered something in her ear and she quickly conveyed the whispered information to her son.

"Well, the inspection will happen in a weeks' time," he corrected, a disgusted expression on his face. "If Stannis hasn't attacked by then, that is."

Sansa was all but ignored by the mother and the son for the remainder of the lunch. Lord Petyr and Lord Tyrion were both cordial and inviting in their conversation, perhaps Littlefinger more than the Imp but Sansa paid that little mind.

They were all excused when Joffreys attention span has outlived the meeting and he wished to go shoot some poor cats with his crossbow. "Dog, escort my lady to her chambers."

Sandor nodded and waited for Sansa to lead the way. She kept her distance with him the same as she did when trailed by other guards on other occasions. He was intent on just taking her to her rooms and leaving her for the evening. He didn't want her to feel additional pressure because of Joffrey's words at dinner. Her quick thinking had bought them an additional week. He was well aware that her moon blood was not upon her.

Shae was already waiting for them when they arrived in Sansas rooms. "Run your lady a bath, please. She has had a tiring day," he commanded in his gruff voice. Sansa liked that he still had polished courtesies despite his rough persona.

When the bath was ready, Sandor rose to leave her. Before he even turned to leave, Sansa reached for his hand, effectively stopping him in his tracks. "Will you stay with me?" she asked. "Please?" she added as an afterthought.

Sandor's throat went dry and all he could do was nod in reply. Even after all their time together and all the things they had done, he still was in awe with everything she did. Sansa smiled at him and reached for the clasps to his cloak before helping him with his armour after excusing Shae for the night.

After his armour and sword had been discarded, he followed Sansas lead to the bathing room. Without Shae, she knew she would need help with her dress. The intricate pattern of the laces up the back was impossible for her to do on her own. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and turned her head to face him. "Help me?" she asked, a playful tone had replaced the usually shy one.

His eyes were dark with lust. He stepped towards her wordlessly, reaching for the laces he hated so much. They separated with excruciating slowness but Sandor didn't necessarily want to ruin another one of her dresses. The news of the last torn dress had spread through the servants faster than Sandor would have thought possible and some of the Kingsguard had made feeble attempts to goad him about it. For her sake, he would not have that repeated so he meticulously loosened and unhooked each row until the dress was loose enough for her to shimmy out of. Still keeping her back to him, Sansa untied the strings to her small cloths and folded them along with her dress.

Sandor watched as the beauty of Sansa was uncovered as each article of clothing was removed. The soft camber of her shoulder, peaked bones of the blades, freckles dappled here and there as was common in red-haired people, the two dimples at the base of her spine and the firm curve of her arse. She smiled coyly at him when she turned to put her small clothes with her dress before lifting each leg high to stepping into the basin.

A spontaneous thought came to Sandor and he began undoing the buttons and drawstrings of his own clothing, laying them alongside hers. Sansa watched him wide-eyed but still moved up in the tub to make room for him behind her. He found the water to be pleasantly warm and the feeling of her arse and back leaning against his cock and chest most enticing. He couldn't resist burying his face into the crook of her neck, nipping at the skin and inhaling her scent which had become so familiar to him. Sansa reached for the sponge and began running it along the length of his legs that straddled each side of her while she enjoyed the feeling of his lips on her skin. He snaked one arm around her chest, taking one breast into his hand and teasing his other hand along the crease at her hips while pulling her tighter against his erection, desperate for any friction. Sansa could feel her muscles began to tighten. The fingers teasing her hips slipped lower into the folds of her womanhood finding the small bud that would bring her to squirming in moments.

She laced her fingers into his hair, beginning to pant heavily under his hands. She arched her back in welcomed surprise when she felt a finger slip into her womanhood. He had never done that before, the feeling was indescribable. She felt only a slight pain when he pushed the length of his finger into her but that feeling was short lived and quickly replaced by gratification. With her feet pressed against the foot of the bath, she was able to move her hips in rhythm with his fingers movements.

Sandor bit harder on her clavicle than he had intended. He couldn't help it; her gyrating hips were now continuously rubbing against him. The noises, the whispers, whimpers and groans coming from Sansa didn't help him either. He pushed his finger harder into her, soon adding a second once her body allowed him.

Sansa put one of her hands over his to stop his actions. He pulled his hand away and lifted his head, unsure why they had stopped. Sansa lifted herself away from him and stepped out of the big basin. She wrapped a towel around her quickly, smiled excitedly at him and reached for his hand. Sandor took her and followed suit, stepping out of the tub and taking an offered towel. No sooner had he wrapped it around him, did she pull him to her, kissing him passionately. Sandor groaned into her lips, fighting with himself for the ability to think straight.

"Sansa..." he managed before she reclaimed his lips. This was getting more difficult for him to resist. He was a man and she was a young, beautiful and very sexual woman _wanting_ him; wanting him almost as much as he wanted her. Still, he fought it, "Sansa, you don't need to do this, we don't need to do this." He had to stretch up to his full height and look up at the ceiling to ensure he resister her long enough to speak with her. "I know what Joffrey said but you made sure we have time. I don't want you to do this if you don't want to or if you're not ready to," he said, finally dropping his eyes from the ceiling to meet hers.

"I only said what I did to Joff so that if you weren't able to come tonight then we would still be safe. That didn't mean I'm not ready for it," she responded, happy that he looked at her and not the ceiling. "You've been patient and so gentle with me. I know I am ready. I've taken care as well. The Maester has been giving me moon tea so we don't need to worry. For you, I am willing and ready, Sandor."

Well, that was it, he was undone. She was willing and wanting. He was convinced that she wasn't just going through with this because of Joffrey, she actually wanted to be with him. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her so that he could kiss her without bending down. Sansa's arms went around his neck and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and he walked them both back towards the bed chamber. He stopped right at the mattresses edge and let Sansa regain her feet before he pulled the towel that hid her away hastily and threw it, his joining soon after. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and hers went around his waist. He nudged her with his hips prompting her to move to lie back onto the bed.

The furs were coarse under her bare skin but that wasn't even a thought in her mind. The weight and warmth of Sandor on her was everything just then. He was teasing her tongue with his own, exploring every contour of her mouth, his hand had resumed where it had left off in the bath tub. Two of his fingers slipped into her easily, her opening slick with excitement. He used his thumb to massage her clitoris while he slid his fingers in and out of her, adjusting tempo and depth. Sansa's hand raked over his ribs and across his arse before teasing his cock as she had done previously. Sandor growled into her mouth. Sansa had decided that his animalistic sounds were something she found erotic and often made it her intent to elicit such sounds from him.

Sandor thrust his fingers into her harder, enjoying making her whimper, making her wetter with every thrust. When she was sodden with pleasure, he removed his hand and laid himself over top of her. He used his weight to press her into the bed as he continued kissing her, pressing his erection against her thighs. Sandor knew he was quickly reaching the point of no return; there was a point where he knew that as much as he would want to stop if she asked, he was not sure that would be able to.

He propped himself up on his elbow, "Are you sure, Sansa?" he asked, brushing her hair off her face gently.

She had never heard him sound so vulnerable before. She raised herself up and kissed him again, "Yes, Sandor, I'm sure," she answered smiling affectionately. Inside, she felt more nervous than she had in her life, but she was ready. Sansa had never considered that he would put his fingers inside her. Shae had told her about it and even encouraged her to try it on herself but she never had. She was thankful he had, she thought it would help her when it was him inside of her.

He nodded silently as he separated her legs with his knees. She helped by lifting and bending them so that he could fit his hips in between her thighs. He knew it would be uncomfortable for her but he also knew it was best to get the uncomfortable parts over with as soon as possible. He had done all he could to make sure she was ready for him and Gods knew she was aroused enough. He positioned himself at her opening and pushed in half his length. That would be more than enough to tear her maidenhead. He didn't know if she would be able to take his full length; he was astonished that she was able to take his girth without signs of pain. He heard her hiss and hold her breath for a moment so he paused to let her adjust before he continued, he had felt the slight resistances as the fragile membrane tore. He moved himself slowly in and out of her so she would get comfortable and let her set the pace once her hips started to move in rhythm with his. With every thrust, he went deeper and faster into her.

She tried not to squirm when he entered her for the first time. It didn't hurt, at least that wouldn't be how she would describe it. It stung for a minute, like a short sharp sting and then it started to ease. As that sting faded, she was able to feel him moving in her. Each thrust built up a pressure below her navel and she began to sense the pleasure spreading through her limbs. The entire time, he had his weight supported above her, watching her face, her every expression. She gazed back at him. She had long since memorized every part of his face, every scar, every ridge, every distinction.

Even moving inside her, he craved her, ached for her. It was as though he could not get enough of her, could not go deep enough. He dipped his head down into her hair, he loved how she smelled. She may have been a child born in the long summer but he remembered what spring smelled like and Sansa smelled of spring, of wild flowers and clean rivers, still icy cold from the melting snows. He groaned as he felt her muscles tighten and clench around him. Her hands went to his back as her orgasm came on him, raking along the length of it leaving bright red marks. She did all she could to hold him to her, his continuous movement on hypersensitive nerves was overwhelming to her senses. He could feel his own orgasm quickly coming on him; he forced himself not to hammer into her as he was wont to do in the past. When he finally came, he groaned her name into the pillow under her head before collapsing on top of her, thoroughly satisfied.

He couldn't lie there long without making Sansa uncomfortable. After a few minutes, he rolled off of her and allowed her to get up so she could clean herself. She was thankful that she had not spilled any blood on her bedding but did notice that the seed she washed out of herself was tinted with red. It wasn't the bloodbath she had envisioned and been warned about nor was it the fright she had experienced with her first flowering. She cleaned up quickly and returned to bed. Sandor had pulled the furs over him and raised them enough to let her slip under and curl up against his chest.

"How do you feel?" he asked his lips again in her hair, his fingers playing up and down her arm.

Sansa had to think about that for a moment, "I feel good," she decided. "I feel a little sore but it's a good kind of sore. It didn't hurt like everyone said it would."

Sandor was thankful for that. He had tried to do everything he could for her to make it as easy as possible. He could not bear to cause her pain.

"How do you feel?" she asked him in return. It had been a long time since she felt so relaxed. She listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat under her head as she played with the hair on his chest.

No one had ever asked him that after sex before, he had never really thought about it. Satisfied? Content? "Happy," he settled on. "Blissfully happy." He knew that sounded clichéd and really not masculine but he didn't care. This was Sansa, she would never mock him.

"Good," was all she said before snuggling closer. It was still fairly early in the evening so they lay in pleasant contentment, lightly dozing but not actually falling asleep. Sansa was reminiscing on the past few months, thinking about her times with him, things he told her, taught her and showed her. It didn't take long for her to feel the familiar feeling of arousal. She squirmed slightly and chewed on her lip. Was it proper for a lady to initiate sex? Would he think poorly of her? She looked up at him through her eyelashes. He was dozing lightly, his eyes barely open, his hair tousled across the pillows. She snaked her hand under the blanket and lightly touched his penis. She had never seen or touched it when it was flaccid and felt so different.

Sandor watched her through his heavily lidded eyes, wondering what was going through her mind. Instead of asking though, he wanted to watch what she would do, especially after the tell-tale squirming started. He could tell quite easily when she was aroused now. He didn't expect her to reach out and take him in her hand though. It didn't take long for him to become hard, not after she starting nibbling on his nipple as he often did to her. She rolled herself so she was lying over top of him, watching him with a mischievous grin on her face. She leaned forward and began kissing along his hairline, pressing herself against his erection.

Sandor squeezed her thighs tightly. He wasn't used to being teased. Fuck 'em and be done with it was his usual way. This torture was a welcomed hell. He loved that she was so brazen, so willing to try something so incredibly foreign to her.

Sansa had no idea what she was doing and was making it up as she went. If Sandor's reactions were any indication, she was quite sure she was doing well. Sandor let out a low growl as she pressed herself harder against him, sliding herself along his erection. She could feel that she was slick with wetness. Finally, when she was certain he had taken all the torture she could muster; she raised herself up and let him help her guide herself onto him. She was sore from their first time together but she was able to bear it. She slowly slid down his length, more for herself than for teasing him but she could see he was resisting the urge to press into her. When she finally took him all in, the ache was more severe; she felt more of him in her than before. She let herself relax for a moment, allowing herself to become accustomed to him before starting with small movements up and down. With each plunge, she made bigger movements and tried to go faster and harder like he did with her. She had to ignore the stabbing pangs she was feeling now. Her skin was raw but she would prevail. Eventually she had to slow down when her legs began to protest and it was the slower movements that Sandor seemed to enjoy the most. His growling intensified with more fervour every time and he took her hips and helped her with the movements controlling the tempo himself. Sansa could feel his cock becoming stiffer and she knew that he was close to climaxing. She knew women didn't always orgasm the same way men did, but she was alright with that. Sandor attempted to choke out her name but was cut off as a groan came out instead as he spilled his seed in her for a second time. When he finally relaxed, Sansa laid her herself again along his torso and kissed him with more affection than passion. Sandor could feel himself softening, groaned in complaint before rolling them both over so they could clean up without making an even bigger mess.

They added a few more pots of hot water to the now cool bath and shared in the warmth where everything had started that evening. Sansa laid languidly against him in the hot water feeling fully content while Sandor hummed tunelessly under his breath, enjoying the feeling of relaxation.

"Sandor?" Sansa asked.

"Mmhm?" he mumbled, drowsily.

"How many women have you had?"

"What?" he asked surprised, eyes shooting open.

"How many women have you slept with?"

He was stunned. He never thought in a thousand winters that Sansa would ask him that.

"_A hound will die for you but he will never lie to you."_

"I never counted," he responded gruffly.

"Oh," was her quiet answer.

They sat in was becoming an uncomfortable silence for some time. Sandor had told her she could ask him anything. For Sandor, he was more ashamed to answer than anything. Finally he answered her properly.

"There was no woman in my life who ever took at look at my face and wanted to stick around, save for my own mother and my sweet little sister. No women dream of giving themselves to me. Every woman I fucked was paid to do it. They didn't care two shits for me so I never bothered to care for them. Why bother? I never took a woman against her will and I never intend to do so. When a woman wishes to share a bed with me willingly, then I will count her."

She could feel the hostility in his voice at the beginning diminish off into sincerity at the end. She also noticed that he had said 'woman' not 'women' and 'her' and not 'them'. She felt herself suddenly anxious. "I did," was her quiet reply.

Sandor kissed the top of her head, "I know, little bird, and you're the first and that means something to me and the only worth remembering. I want you to know that." He wrapped his arms tightly around her in an embrace.

Sansa turned her head and kissed him hard on the lips and answered, "I know that and I would do it many time over if it meant I was with you alone."

Sandor laughed to cover his expression of awe and affection and returned her kiss. He was confident that neither he, nor his cock would ever get tired of Sansa Stark. "Maybe another day. Our day has been long and exerting. It's time for rest," he finished prodding for her to get up before leading her back to the comfort of her bed.


	12. Chapter 12

**********Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

A/N: I had a long winded rant about a review that I am generously going to say was written out of ignorance. Then I thought, why should I feed into that when I am sure if they truly thought my plot device was "hilariously absurd", am sure they aren't reading it. I can take constructive criticism. In fact, I welcome it. That is how authors improve. But ultimately, unless you have some constructive criticism that you can convey respectively, keep your opinions to yourself instead of hiding behind 'anonymous'. If you have wild criticism, shoot me a personal message and we can duke it out then. I will even accept NEGATIVE criticism as long as it is done with respect. I don't expect everyone to enjoy what I write, but show some guts and use your actual username. Writing and posting fanfiction takes guts. It opens the writer to criticism (both good and bad). Fortunately for me, almost all my feedback has been overwhelmingly positive. I thank those who give me praise and constructive criticism. I appreciate you taking the time to read and review what I write. THANK YOU.

Also, the parts that are written in _italics_ are from the book. They are NOT from my head, I am NOT infringing on any copyright.

* * *

Sandor was woken from his slumber; the sun had barely risen over a smoky horizon, by a heavy pounding on the door. He uncurled himself from the now-awake Sansa, making sure she was appropriately covered, and went to open the door, not even bothering to dress. He threw up the crossbeam and wrenched the heavy door open. Outside the door stood Podric Payne, the squire to Tyrion Lannister, looking fearful enough that he would likely prefer to have the floor open up under him than face the Hound right now.

"You better have one hell of a fucking good reason for being here this morning, you little shit," he snarled. The Hound was an imposing sight, kept half in shadow of the dawn, his tall lean muscular figure, naked as his name day, looming over the boy, all his scars, both on his face and his body showing clear for anyone to see.

The boy was quaking more with every word Sandor said. "M-m-my L-l-lord T-t-tyrion..."

"Spit it out boy! I don't have all day."

"Lord Stannis. The-the s-s-ships. He's attacking," he managed to spit out. "I was s-s-sent to get you."

From where Sansa lay, buried under the furs, she could see as all the muscles in Sandor's back, arms and legs tensed with anger. When Podric said the attack had started, Sansa froze. Sandor was going to battle.

Sandor had no choice, he had to go. "Find my squire, tell him to have my armour ready and to prepare my horse," he commanded between clenched teeth. "Can you handle that boy?" he growled again.

"Y-y-yes Ser," the boy stumbled.

"Call me Ser again and I feed your balls to my horse for breakfast!" he bellowed slamming the door.

He turned back to where Sansa was laying, his expression immediately softening at her expression. He slid back under the covers and wrapped her back in his arms. "Everything will be fine, Sansa. I will take you from this place, I promise," he told her softly, kissing her temple.

She knew this day was coming; she had been both excited and dreadful of it. Dread for Sandor and excitement for escape rumbled fretfully in her gut. She could only manage to nod her head and close her eyes in a feeble attempt to stop herself from crying. She would need to be brave. If he was called for already, it wouldn't be long before she would be summoned to the Queens ballroom, as was custom for all ladies of her birth.

"We best begin getting dressed then," she commented after giving herself a moment to gather herself again. She pushed back the heavy pelts and went to her dressing room. Sandor went to retrieve his clothes from the bathing chamber. He reemerged wearing his trousers and boots and was in the process of pulling his undershirt over his head before donning his tunic.

In the few minutes he had been absent, Shae had arrived and was helping Sansa with the laces on her dress. Sandor was thankful for that. He could competently undo the laces if he had the focus for it but the intricate pattern that was followed for relacing them was one he would not be able to follow.

Sansa didn't take nearly as long as she usually did in her preparations. Her dress was a more modest dress and her hair was simply done in the Northern style. She donned her stockings and slippers so that she was fully dressed when Sandor was ready to leave. Shae pretended to be busying herself with tidying up the vanity table while the other two said their leaves.

Sansa approached Sandor, fidgeting with her fingers and staring at the floor, much the same way she had the very first time Sandor came to see her. Just the same this time, she was terrified but for very different reasons. She stopped, standing less than a foot away from him and pressed the palms of her hands against his broad chest and leaned her face into him, taking in the smell of him, as though she would never see him again.

"Look at me Sansa," he started, taking her jaw in one hand, "the Stranger himself will not stop me from coming for you when this madness is done. Understood?"

Sansa nodded kissing him quickly before hugged the big man tightly. "I love you," she said quiet enough that Shae would not hear.

Sandor pulled back slightly, shocked at her words. He returned his hand to her jaw and ran his thumb over her lips gently, "I've loved you always, little bird," he responded gravelly, moving his thumb and kissing her deeply. He hugged her again before pulling back reluctantly, "we'd best be going before we are missed."

He opened the door and allowed both Sansa and Shae to leave before following after them both, his steps heavy on the stones. When it came time for them to part ways, he opened the door to the hall for the ladies, his hand barely grazing the small of her back before he turned towards the stables.

Farther down the hall, unnoticed by the three that had just occupied the space, Littlefinger was walking with Ser Ilyn Payne. Lord Petyr had been giving him various instructions before he left the city on the Queens directives...with some inflection by Tyrion of course. From his vantage point, he saw the interaction that took place and his confusion about Sansa's change of mind regarding escaping with Ser Dontos suddenly became clear.

"Ser Ilyn," he started, eyes still focussed on the doorway, "I want you to keep a close eye on Sansa Stark. I wouldn't want her to get lost in the confusion during the attack." Malice dripped from his voice. "Is that understood?" The headsman nodded silently before following Sansa's footsteps into the hall.

Just as Sansa was getting settled, a squire approached her and said that her presence was requested in the courtyard. She reentered the smokey yard and looked around for the king.

_"Sansa!" The boyish shout rang across the yard; Joffrey had seen her. "Sansa, here!"_

_He calls me as if he were calling a dog, she thought._

_Joffrey drew his sword. The pommel was a ruby cut in the shape of a heart, set between a lion's jaws. Three fullers were deeply incised in the blade. "My new blade, Hearteater."_

_He'd owned a sword named Lion's Tooth once, Sansa remembered. Arya had taken it from him and thrown it in a river. I hope Stannis does the same with this one. "It is beautifully wrought, Your Grace."_

_"Bless my steel with a kiss." He extended the blade down to her. "Go on, kiss it."_

_He had never sounded more like a stupid little boy. Sansa touched her lips to the metal, thinking that she would kiss any number of swords sooner than Joffrey. The gesture seemed to please him, though. He sheathed the blade with a flourish. "You'll kiss it again when I return, and taste my uncle's blood."_

Sansa smiled sweetly at her king before being dismissed and returned to the Queens hall. She contemplated visiting the Sept but she didn't want to face all the crowds. The Queen was announced shortly after Sansa with her retinue of guards.

_"You look pale, Sansa," Cersei observed. "Is your red flower still blooming?"_

_"Yes," _She lied.

_"How apt. The men will bleed out there, and you in here." The queen signaled for the first course to be served._

Sansa watched as the messengers came and went, bringing tidings of the battle and how the King was faring and with each messenger, the Queen went deeper into her cups. When Ser Osney brought news that the whole Blackwater was awash with wildfire, Sansa stifled a gasp. Her only thoughts were for Sandor. He was thoroughly terrified of fire and having to face flames of that magnitude would be too much for even him to bear.

Out in the battle, the Hound was cutting through men as fast as they came off the ships. What choice did he have? It was them or him and he was much fonder of his own skin. Thus far he had remained almost unscathed. One man almost his size managed to clout him across the head but the fierce hounds head helm absorbed the brunt of that hit, losing an ear in the process and Sandor received a gash above his eye. He retreated back inside the Kings Gate when he saw how high the flames had grown. Ships, men, the entire fucking river was on fire!

He was still at the Kings Gate with his men when Tyrion arrived shouting that they would all be going out. The Hound stepped from the shadows and wrenched off his helm, smearing the blood further across his face.

"No."

Tyrion was genuinely surprised. He knew the man was not stupid but he had always been obedient when it came to battle; a most loyal dog. "Yes, take your men and go back out."

Sandor was a fearful sight, his hair was slicked with sweat and blood, blood ran down over his mauled face and his armour was scorched and dented. "Bugger you, bugger them and bugger that little bastard shit of a king. I am not taking more of my men into that. Wildfire is bursting everywhere, men and horses are dying..." he trailed off. 'Fuck this,' he thought to himself.

_He's afraid!_ Tyrion realized and that fear had spread to the other men. Tyrion announced that he would lead the sortie. Sandor laughed through a sneer, threw his helmet at the Imp's feet and stalked off. He would have no more of this.

Back in the ballroom, Sansa tried to listen to the ramblings of the Queen but with the more wine she consumed, the less sense she made. She rambled on about how much she detested her sex and how stupid the women in her hall were for believing that their gender and their birth would protect them from being raped or mutilated if Stannis was successful.

The afternoon progressed slowly, the story tellers made up stories, Moon Boy bounced and flipped to amuse the children and Cersei grew more bored. Eventually the ladies requested permission to visit the Sept and more than half the hall left. Cersei continually mocked Sansas love for the fables and songs and suggest she practice her tears for when Stannis entered the walls but made it clear that she would not survive that long. When she bought up Sansa's 'treasons' in the Godswood, she froze. Did she know about Ser Dontos or about Sandor? She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she only referred to praying to the Old Gods.

Soon, news was brought that the battle was lost. Cersei ordered the drawbridge raised and the doors barred. She then insisted Joffrey be brought back in to safety. When Ser Lancel protested, she shoved him sharply and barked at Osfryd before yelling at them to get out of her way.

She had been forgotten. Ser Ilyn would take off all their heads and Cersei would not give any of them a second thought. The ladies began to wail and the children started to cry. Their Queen had abandoned them when they needed her most! Sansa did the best she could to soothe them, promising that the battle was still going on and that the Queen would be back soon, knowing she was lying through her teeth. She called for Moon Boy to entertain those who remained and went to Ser Lancel. She commanded a pair of servants to tend to the man and take him to Maester Frenken.

Sansa continued to sit with the ladies and pretend to be content with the entertainment that the ladies were soothed by her calm. The torches begun to burn low and Cersei had yet to return. While all eyes were on the fool Ser Dontos approached her, still surprisingly sober, and instructed her to return to her chamber and bar the door. She would be safest there. Sansa nodded and tried to walk as calmly as she could when all she wanted to do was run. The halls had men in crimson cloaks scattering all about, arms laden with silver goblets and brass plates. As soon as she reached the tower stairs, she ran as fast as she could to her bedroom, slamming the door hard behind her.

The room was black as pitch. From memory, she walked to the window, cloaked with heavy drapes and pulled them back. The flames had engulfed the entire waterfront. The guards weren't lying. Sansa worried for Sandor, wishing she could see him from where she was.

"Sansa?" called a gruff voice, sounding groggy with sleep behind her, a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Sansa gasped and turned around in surprise. Sandor was sitting on the edge of her bed wiping his hand across his face. "Sandor!" she called, "How did you get here? Why aren't you out there?" she asked, letting him pull her to him. A moment of fear shot across his face and she immediately understood. "They wanted you to go into the fire."

"Fuck them all, little bird," he growled holding her tighter. On his way back to the castle, he had heard word that the battle was lost and all he could think of was getting to Sansa and keeping her safe. "Get your things, we need to go."

Sansa saw the blood in the glow of the fire. "You're bleeding! Are you hurt? She panicked.

"Aye, just a small cut though, nothing to worry about. Now get your things, we need to leave _now_.

Sansa nodded and obediently went to the bag she packed in her wardrobe. She started to make her way around the room when a pounding on the door had them both frozen in their places.

"Stay there," he commanded as he went to the door, sword in hand. Sansa nodded. He lifted the cross beam and planted his foot so the door would only be able to open a few inches before hitting resistance. Those few inches were more than enough for Shae to slip through.

"You must hurry," she said, ignoring Sandor. She grabbed the bag from Sansa and started throwing in some brushes, a small looking glass and some little trinkets. "How do you plan on getting her out of here Clegane?" All courtesies had been set aside, she knew they needed out.

"Ride out and cut everyone down who stands in my way," he growled.

"That won't work. You can't protect yourself, your horse and Sansa and expect to escape with your life," she continued. She had to escape from Lorath in a similar fashion when she was a girl. "Sansa, take his gold cloak, wrap it tightly around you. Make sure that red hair of yours is tucked in well. Pull it up as far as it goes, cover your face. Clegane, you will carry her over your shoulder like a sack of whatever it is you would take with you if you were to flee. I will carry her belongings. No one will care if you leave the city with a maid. Even mad with terror, they will not let you take Sansa Stark."

Sandor could see the logic in her words and nodded towards Sansa to follow her instructions. Sansa changed out of the intricate gown she had donned that morning and pulled her woolen northern dress over her head. She tied the knots and fastened the cloak as she was told. Sandor hoisted her over his shoulder and Shae made sure the fabric was tucked in enough to hide her.

"Go to the stables, don't take the main staircase. It is still swarmed with the Queens men. Take the servants' stairs. They will come out next to the kitchens. From there it's not far across the yard to the stables. Do you understand?" Sandor nodded. "Find me some old nag or ass to ride. I will meet you there shortly," she finished, prodding him out the door before ducking into her own rooms. She followed a similar pattern in there as she had in Sansa's room: grabbing only the necessities. She was accustomed to being on the road so her possessions were few. She made sure to take her jewels. She was sure their value would come in helpful on their journey.

Sandor found the staircase easily enough but the courtyard was all confusion. He pushed his way through the throng of men who were trying to press their way into the castle. The crowd had cleared half way across the yard and he made directly for the stables. His way was unexpectedly and suddenly barred by Ser Ilyn; the familiar sight of Valyrian steel shining in the firelight.

"Seven fucking hells!" he bellowed, stepping back from the man. He had no helmet but the old man wore only boiled leather and mail. He raised his sword in anticipation for the first blow. That blow never came. Ser Ilyn had expected the Hound to be dragging Sansa Stark in tow and when he didn't see her, he wasn't sure how to move forward. He wasn't told to kill the Hound for the sake of killing the Hound. "I don't have time for this shit!" Sandor snarled and brought his blade down on the man. Ser Ilyn moved to raise his blade but wasn't quite fast enough. The castle forged steel cut deep into the man's shoulder just moment before it was sheared off by the up cut of the Valyrian blade. He knew that the Kings Justice had carried _Ice_ since he took the head of Eddard Stark and every man knew the swords of the great houses. He picked up the strange blade for Sansa's sake and took it into the stable. He would need to strip the old man of the scabbard. His was too small for the wide blade and the steel was much too sharp to just slip through his belt.

He ducked into the shadows of the stables and approached his horse. He walked into the stall and carefully laid Sansa across Strangers shoulders. She could wiggle her hands loose enough to hold onto to the pommel of the saddle until he was able to mount. He had his own bag ready to go stashed under the straw, which he strapped across his horses rear. Several of the squire's mounts were already saddled and ready. They were good and steady beasts, obedient too, if he recalled correctly. He chose one that he knew wasn't so skittish of his own destrier and led both into the aisle of the stable and waited.

Shae showed up wearing a heavy cloak and thick leather boots. She glanced at the horse quickly and nodded her approval. She took the reins from him and strapped her bags quickly onto the saddle. He led the way out before mounting and making his way to the Iron Gate. Just as Shae had predicted, no one dared stand against the Hound and no one cared that he was leaving with a maid, even if she was a pretty one.

And just like that, they escaped from Kings Landing.


	13. Epilogue

**********Disclaimer:** I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

**A/N: **So everyone, this is the last chapter. I know a lot of people were anticipating more but this was a story about 'lessons' and their lessons have come to an end. I am pondering with the idea of writing a series of one-shots to go along with this epilogue but we will have to see if time is on my side. I want to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has read my story. I have gotten more of a response from it than I had anticipated so I just wanted to thank all the readers. I am ecstatic that you have enjoyed it and I hope you enjoy the end.

On a really fun note, I went to the Game of Thrones exhibition in Toronto earlier this week. It was AWESOME. I loved it. I got my picture taken on the Iron Throne but it apparently got lost in the world of email and I sadly never received it. :( That just means I will have to go again if it comes around next year. Oh darn! :P Anyways, without further ado...

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They had initially planned on riding north to Riverrun. Their plans were quickly deviated when they caught the news at a small village of the Lannister army having all roads blocked and putting anyone who refused to aid them to the sword. Where the way wasn't blocked by the Lannisters, it was blocked by Northmen or the Riverfolk, all of which new the Hound. Those who were pledged to Riverrun would not recognise Sansa unless they had met her mother or her aunt and the Northmen this far south would be from houses too small to have been guests at Winterfell. It was not a risk they could take.

Their miraculous escape from Kings Landing was only successful because of all the confusion that evening. They knew they couldn't go south, they would be caught for sure. The Free Cities were also off limits, Varys had his spies everywhere at both the docks in Westeros and Braavos. Sandor decided they would head west. No one would anticipate them escaping to the Westerlands. There was a valley he knew off not far from his family's homestead. Since no one knew they had left the capital together, he was sure that was the last place they would look for Sansa Stark. Tywin Lannister was the Warden of the West and it would make no logical sense for her to walk right into the lion's den.

It was quite a long ride and they had to pace themselves. Stranger was a strong horse with more endurance than most horses but with the extra weight of Sansa and their extra provisions, they couldn't ride him at anything more than a steady trot for long and Shae's mount hadn't had enough endurance training for such a feat. They would gallop if Stranger chose to but that was rare and short-lived. As the days went on, the heavy trees tapered into shrubs and eventually into vast grasslands. They skirted the lands that actually did belong to the Cleganes, it would not do for any of the peasants to see him. Word would make it back to Gregor or Kings Landing and they would never be safe.

Finally, Sandor stopped the great horse at a rocky ledge and led him down a rough stony slope that would not have been easily visible had one not known to look for it. To the unknowing eye, the gradient looked much too steep for safe passage. They couldn't risk either horse slipping a shoe or breaking a leg. They would still have much more need of them before long and had no means of having them healed or getting another horse at the moment. The scree from the surrounding crags littered the trail creating neck-breaking hazards every step. They did eventually make it to the bottom and it was just as Sandor recalled from his childhood. There was a cave on the western-facing slope that was just as empty now as it had been almost twenty years ago. A stream fed from an underground reservoir ran through the middle of the valley and there was plenty of grass for the horses to graze on. The cave was tidy enough for them to live comfortable for a short while but would not allow much room for storage and living come the winter.

Sansa was in awe of the beauty of the place. Everything from the grey rocky slopes, the lush green grass and the thick, old trees was rapturous to her. It was the closest she had felt to being home since leaving her true home so long ago. Sandor taught her many things about living off the land, about what berries, seeds and nuts were edible, and which were poisonous. She gradually became a proficient cook with what she was provided and learned how to care for and maintain a household. It wasn't anything like the ways she had been taught by Septa Mordane but this was not the life she had been intended for either. As for Shae, this was also a life she was not accustomed to and eventually left them for a nearby hamlet where she took up her original profession at the tavern there.

As the time went by, Sandor worked hard cutting down the mature trees, stripping them of their branches and eventually managed to make them a rather comfortable cottage. It would be easier for them to keep warm should they still be there when winter came. It was no Winterfell but they were content with it. They used the cave to store dried vegetables, herbs and spices that they managed to grow in the fertile soil and eventually, dried salted meat. They didn't leave their valley very often, only when they needed provisions that they could not grow themselves. The nearby hamlet was able to sell them a few animals, bolts of cloth and decent steel now and then and the villagers never turned down the good gold that offered them for their services. Since it would not do for either of them to be seen or followed, most of these transactions were done through Shae. She would venture back to the gorge every week or two and ensure all was well.

Gradually there was less and less they had to do for their survival and only needed to maintain all they had worked so hard for. The warmer evenings were spend outside, making love on the lush grasses while the sun set. As the nights became cool, their evenings would be spent in their little cottage, snuggled by the fire. Sandor was free to love Sansa without inhibition or fear of retribution. He never thought he would feel such strong, positive emotions towards another as he did for Sansa. The closest he could compare was the intensity of his hatred of his brother. As for Sansa, she loved being able to be with Sandor without the prying, judgmental eyes of the nobility. There was a Septon that passed through the village every few month and Sandor would have married Sansa in her Gods eyes in half a heartbeat but as with everything else, they couldn't risk it and they would not be able to use their birth names. On top of that, Sansa would have liked to be married in front of a wierwood heart tree as well.

The war carried on with increasing brutality beyond their valley and they carried on in quiet solitude. The news of the Red Wedding brought on a shadow of despair over their valley for some time. Sansa felt alone. Bran and Rickon were dead, now Robb and her mother, her father was long gone and no one knew what had happened to Arya. As far as anyone knew, she was the last Stark of Winterfell. She knew that if she went home, duty would force her to be separated from him. _Family, Duty, Honour__**.**_Those were her mothers' words. Sandor was her family and she would fight for him if she had to. They had also learned of Ser Gregor Cleganes death at the spear of the Dornishman. Sandor was less upset than he had anticipated, but he still ruined a good sword after hacking at a tree.

The shadows that seemed to stay over them were dissolved when Sansa noticed her moon blood had been absent for some months. That suspicion, followed by a sudden dislike of favourite foods and unaccountable illness confirmed them. She hadn't missed a single day of her moon tea but they both knew that was not infallible. The months passed and she bore a son, an heir for both Winterfell and Clegane Keep. Sandor could not have been a more proud father.

The years passed quickly for them. They received word about the most recent siege at Kings Landing, the Dragon Queen had put down the Lions once and for all. Sansa had never felt such joy; her family was finally vindicated. After talking it over, they knew they needed to go back to Kings Landing and back to the life they were intended for. Sansa had her responsibilities at Winterfell to contend with and now, Sandor was the rightful heir to Clegane Keep. They had some serious considerations to work out but Sandor had no great affections for Clegane Keep and Sansa knew that there must always be a Stark at Winterfell. Her name was the last and only one that had any hope of reuniting the North.

It was with heavy hearts that they left their valley, now unsure about their lives and their futures. Sansa didn't know that they would be able to live happily ever after like the knights and ladies in her beloved stories but she didn't care about that because after all they had gone through, both together and alone, in the end, they _lived._


End file.
